


Shatter

by NotEnoughAnswers



Series: Gotham [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 83,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEnoughAnswers/pseuds/NotEnoughAnswers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Checkmate</i>. Jeannie's life could have been described as a blank canvas, with the occasional spot of color here and there. Now, it was torn right down the middle—splattered with purple and green, streaked with blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. October 2007: Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FanFiction.Net, February 2016.

**_"T_ _hese violent delights have violent ends,_ **

_**And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,** _

_**Which, as they kiss, consume."** _

_**-Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 6.** _

**October 2007**

The thing about teaching history, especially teaching history first period, was that the teacher was usually the only one getting enjoyment out of the lesson. Jeannie had quickly learned that the first time she'd had a sullen class of sophomores who could care less about the Civil War, and so knew to just give them worksheets instead of wasting her breath.

It was a cold October day, and Jeannie was staring absent-mindedly out the window, watching the leaves blow in the wind. Her students were whispering among themselves and pretending to do the work when the classroom door swung open and a scruffy-looking boy dressed in a black sweatshirt crept in, hoping he wasn't noticed.

"Freeze, Stuart," Jeannie said lazily. "Why are you twenty minutes late?"

His shoulders slumped. "Can I talk to you after class?" he asked, avoiding the other students' curious gazes.

Jeannie paused but ultimately nodded when she saw the look on his face. Stuart was perpetually late and she'd almost questioned him right then so he wouldn't have time to make up an excuse, but something about his haggard expression that day made her give him the benefit of the doubt. It was no secret that he had an alcoholic father and his mother had walked out on them years ago, so the teachers took pity on him for the most part.

"Got beaten up again, freak?" another boy named Luke asked, sticking out his foot to trip Stuart.

"Hey," Jeannie said sharply. " _Enough_."

Luke shot her a surly look but turned his head back to his desk. Jeannie glared at the pile of tests she was supposed to be marking, but her mind was far from ancient history at the moment. The memory of Jack always hit her at the most inopportune times.

It had been five years and two months since she'd last seen him—exactly nineteen hundred days. It was embarrassing and likely more than pathetic that she kept a tally of the time that had passed, but she couldn't help it. Jack was a reminder of her past that she never wanted to forget, whether dead or not. Sometimes, when she was at her mother's house, she pulled out the old photo album and spent an afternoon sobbing while she looked at his pictures.

For the first year after his death, she'd been consumed with guilt over the last words she'd said to him, blaming herself. Everyone assured her that wasn't the case, that it was no one's fault but the mob's, but that didn't alleviate her guilt in the least. Eventually the aching remorse had disappeared, to be replaced with a hollowness that was even worse in its own way.

Jeannie had woken up halfway through the flight to Chicago, with a very pregnant Emily at her side. She'd cried her heart out the whole way home and spent the next weeks drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Mrs. Kerr had taken the best care of her she could, but she finally became worried about the health of the baby, and the doctor had advised Jeannie to stay on bedrest for the remainder of the pregnancy.

She didn't like to think about the three months between the time that she left Gotham and the birth; aside from being too painful, her memories were vague at best and she was sure she'd been asleep for most of it anyway.

At the beginning of October that year, Jeannie went into labor. The pain of giving birth was nothing compared to the pain of losing Jack; in fact, it was almost disappointing in a masochistic sort of way. She'd almost wished for a sharper physical pain to at least numb the emotional pain a bit.

After a relatively short labor, Jeannie had given birth to a girl, whom she named Lily Victoria Napier, after her grandmother and mother. Of course, Jack had predicted she'd have a boy, and was expectedly completely wrong about it.

Thankfully, Lily had taken up the bulk of her time from then on and Jeannie had gladly welcomed a distraction. Her daughter was the only remaining part of Jack she had left, even if it hurt her to see it.

Lily was quite possibly the most exuberant person Jeannie had ever met. Whether it was making a new friend or learning a new word, she'd made her hopelessly broken mother smile even when she felt like giving up. She'd turned five the day before, and Jeannie had invited all of her friends from preschool over to their house. Seeing the carefree optimism of the children had almost made her cry over again.

Everyone said that Lily was the spitting image of Jeannie, and she reluctantly agreed they were right. Lily had her face, her smile, her hair, and her build. She loved reading like Jeannie, and she constantly questioned the world around her. "Are you sure you're not the only parent?" people would joke, because the resemblance was just that prominent. Lily had even brought a picture of Jeannie as a child to school, and everyone, including the teacher, believed it was actually her.

But as pronounced as her likeness to her mother was, Jeannie could definitely see Jack in her—the most obvious example being her eyes. Lily's eyes were the exact same shape and shade of brown as Jack's were. Sometimes she would look a certain way at Jeannie and she would instantly transform into her father. Jeannie didn't think she would ever get past that.

The second similarity between the two was their heights. Jeannie had always been tall for her age, but Lily was definitely taller than she had been at five years old. She had a feeling that Lily would take entirely after Jack in height and tower over her someday—she was already well on her way.

The third resemblance was perhaps the least noticeable, but Jeannie spotted it anyway. Lily loved gymnastics and took lessons every day after school, something she was extremely passionate about. Seeing as how Jeannie couldn't do a somersault to save her life, she knew her daughter had gotten her acrobatic skills from Jack.

After Lily's birth, Jeannie had continued living with Mrs. Kerr. She'd taken two years off to raise Lily full-time, and then had gone to teacher's college for another year before taking up her current position at the high school—ironically, the same high school that she'd attended for three months before moving to Gotham. Now she was in her second year of teaching, and, she hoped, slightly more experienced. Just after she'd gotten a full-time job, she and Lily had moved to a small house in the suburbs.

When class was dismissed, Jeannie watched Stuart slowly shuffle up to her desk, keeping his head down. "You've been late almost every day since school started," she said gently. "Is there anything wrong?"

"My uncle was just killed," he muttered almost inaudibly.

Jeannie sat back in surprise. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that," she replied after a short pause. "Will you be going to his funeral?"

Stuart shook his head. "He doesn't live in Chicago."

Jeannie nodded. "I'll excuse you from being late, then."

Giving a small, forced smile, the boy turned away and headed to the door. He was nearly gone when he halted and asked, "Have you ever been to Gotham City?"

The question shocked Jeannie. "Yes, I have," she said quietly. "I lived there for almost nine years."

"Have you ever heard of anyone called the Joker?"

"The Joker?" she echoed blankly. "Is that someone's name?"

"It's a title he supposedly gives himself," Stuart said, beginning to become more animated. "It's all over the news. He robbed a Gotham mob bank a couple of days ago."

"I've never heard of him," Jeannie said truthfully. She didn't watch the news anymore.

"Oh, okay," Stuart answered, disappointed. "Never mind, then." With one last attempt at smiling, he turned and left.

When he was gone, Jeannie sighed and brushed the chalk dust from her fingers. Gotham was the last place she wanted to hear about. She hadn't set foot in the city for five years, and hoped she would never have to again.

Maybe Batman would manage to arrest whoever this Joker was. Jeannie hoped he would; it appeared she'd left just in time. What with men running around in bat suits trying to eradicate crime and lunatics calling themselves the Joker, she was beginning to think _she_ was sane. What was next, a Queen of Hearts?

Feeling suddenly heavy-hearted, Jeannie packed up her bags and left the school, kicking at leaves as she walked across the parking lot. It was times like these she wished, secretly, that she'd died alongside Jack.

Unable to pull herself out of her strange mood, Jeannie turned on the car radio on her way to pick Lily up from gymnastics. There was a station playing a song about heartbreak—no—a station giving away free passes to see a romantic comedy—definitely not. Jeannie finally gave up and turned to the news station, letting the bland voice of the announcer fill up the car.

"…We are broadcasting live from Gotham City, where the Joker has just kidnapped a member of the GCPD and released a tape threatening Batman…"

"Good grief, what is _wrong_ with that city?" Jeannie said aloud. Stopping at a red light, she rested her head on the steering wheel. Chicago would never tolerate someone like Batman, much less whoever this Joker was. They'd both be shot and unmasked before either of them could say a word.

"…Citizens are urged to call the police if they see anything. The Joker is described to be about six feet tall and wearing a purple suit. He has dyed green hair and wears red, white and black greasepaint—"

Jeannie switched the radio off, not wanting to hear any more. Every time she stepped out of her little protective bubble, she always ended up regretting it.

She'd just pulled into the parking lot of the gymnastics studio when her phone rang. "Hello?" she asked, not recognizing the number.

"Jeannie," the anxious voice of Emily Garcia said. "Have you been listening to the news?"

"Em!" Jeannie exclaimed. "How are you doing?" It was good to hear her best friend's voice again. Emily had given birth to her son, Evan, almost exactly a month before Jeannie had Lily. She'd visited Jeannie in Chicago several times, but since the birth of her second son, Tyler, the two women had barely seen each other.

"I'm not doing so well, actually," Emily said. "I'm very worried, in fact."

"Has someone made another threat on Anthony's life again?" Jeannie asked. Anthony Garcia had recently been elected the mayor of Gotham, and had to be kept under unusually tight security.

"Not yet, but I think there will be soon," replied Emily. "Listen, Jeannie, how much do you know about the Joker?"

"Nothing at all, really," Jeannie said. "I just heard about him on the radio. Apparently he wears makeup or something."

"All right," Emily began. "I think this is something you need to see yourself. Give me a call when you're watching the news tonight."

Jeannie frowned in confusion, but Emily had already hung up.

Feeling apprehensive, she got out of the car and headed into the studio just in time for class to be dismissed. Jeannie caught sight of a brunette man and winced, quickly stepping out of sight. Harold Garrison was the father of one of Lily's classmates, a young boy named Timothy. At Lily's urging, she'd grudgingly gone on a date with Harold after he had divorced his wife. Jeannie had tried dating again at the encouragement of her mother, who often liked repeating that she was still young and had enough time to start a new family. But the attraction just hadn't been there, and their brief kiss at the end of the second date was enough to turn Jeannie off of him forever. Now she was trying to avoid him at all costs.

Lily was the first one out of the room. "Mommy, look what I can do!" she exclaimed, and promptly launched into a series of complicated moves, ending on her back with her feet pulled up behind her ears.

Jeannie clapped obediently and Lily, sensing another possibility for a trick, swiftly leapt to her feet and bounded into her mother's arms, giggling mischievously. Under the sudden weight, Jeannie stumbled back but managed to retain her balance.

"Can we go for ice cream now?" Lily asked innocently, her large brown eyes suddenly serious.

The door opened again and Harold walked out with Timothy in tow. Jeannie quickly slipped her sunglasses back on and tried to leave as quickly as possible. "Honey, we have cupcakes at home," she told Lily distractedly. "Don't you want those instead?"

"But cupcakes taste better with _ice cream_ ," her daughter insisted in her high-pitched, childish lisp. "Please, Mommy?"

Jeannie surreptitiously glanced behind them as she stepped outside onto the bustling street. Luckily, Harold was nowhere to be seen. "Fine, but you're only allowed to have one cupcake tonight."

Lily's face fell. How wonderful it would be, Jeannie thought, if your only decision in life was whether to have one cupcake with ice cream or two cupcakes with no ice cream. She supposed she'd been like that, once, but her memories were growing foggy. It was times like these, when she contemplated her daughter, that she realized just how old she felt. She felt thirty-seven, not twenty-seven.

On their way home, Lily told her all about the new stretches they had done, babbling a mile a minute, but Jeannie hardly heard. She kept replaying the phone call with Emily in her head, wondering what could possibly worry her friend so much.


	2. October 2007: Return

As soon as Jeannie got home, she turned on the news, half-expecting to hear that the Joker had been revealed as Anthony Garcia, who had gone insane with the stress of being the mayor. She couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

But she instantly sobered up when she saw the announcer's worried expression. His voice was wavering as he spoke. "…very disturbing video that was sent to the GCN, Gotham City's news station, earlier today. Viewer discretion is advised."

Jeannie turned up the volume as the scene cut to a shaky, grainy image of what appeared to be some sort of slaughterhouse. She could see the bloody carcass of a large animal in the background.

"Tell them your name…" a male voice began. It was nasally, high-pitched, and made Jeannie cringe.

"B—Brian…D—Douglas," came the terrified answer. Jeannie's eyes widened in astonishment—Brian Douglas was Miranda Parker's one-time boyfriend and the father of her eight-year-old son, Alexander. She hadn't seen Miranda in years, but she would never have guessed Brian moved to Gotham and became a policeman. Now he was reduced to a sick-looking man dressed in a batsuit and cowering on the floor.

The first voice gave a sinister snicker. "Are you the real Batman?" it whispered.

"No," Brian Douglas gulped.

" _No?_ " the Joker repeated, sounding amused. He laughed again, but this time it was louder, more disturbing. Jeannie's eyes narrowed; she had the frustrating sensation of déjà vu. She had heard that laugh before.

"Mommy, what are you watching?" Lily asked, skipping into the room with cupcake splattered over her face.

"Go to your room and play, sweetie," Jeannie ordered, not taking her eyes off the television.

Her daughter's lip quivered. "But I wanna _see_ —"

"Lily, _go_!" Jeannie ordered. With a hurt look on her face, Lily ran out of the room and stormed upstairs.

Back on the screen, the image tilted dizzyingly as the camera was rotated sideways."…Then why do you dress up like him?" the Joker asked. He giggled, waving a black object in front of the camera. Jeannie caught a glimpse of his gloved hand and the sleeve of a purple jacket.

"He's a symbol," Brian Douglas whispered, sounding as if he was about to faint, "…That we don't have to be afraid of scum like you."

"But you _do,_ Brian," the Joker countered, "You _really do_." He sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. Jeannie stared at the television, now utterly horrified but unable to look away.

"Look at me," he ordered. When Brian didn't respond, he roared, " _Look at me_!"

The remote fell from Jeannie's hand and clattered loudly onto the floor, but she didn't react.

On screen, the Joker swung around the camera to face the viewer. He had two long, jagged scars that split each half of his face open. They were covered in bright red paint that gave him the bizarre, nightmarish appearance of a permanent smile. His face was smeared in white makeup and his greasy hair held a green tinge. Even with black paint smudged around his eyes like a demented panda bear, Jeannie knew that they were the same eyes she saw reflected in her daughter every day.

"You see, _this_ is how crazy Batman's made Gotham," the Joker snarled. "You want order in Gotham, then Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh, and every day he doesn't, people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word." Then he started laughing—the most terrifying laugh Jeannie had ever heard.

With trembling hands, she grabbed the phone and dialed Emily's number. When her friend answered, she whispered, "Help me."

* * *

"I knew who he was as soon as I saw the tape," Emily said worriedly. "I haven't told Anthony about it yet. He says that the Joker robbed a bank a few days ago and then supposedly crashed a mob meeting."

Jeannie choked on her next words. "Em…but _how_ …"

"I have a theory," Emily began. "Oliver used to work for the mob, right? They wanted to get rid of you for some reason. So they tell him to burn down your apartment, but of course, Oliver can't bear to kill you, so what does he do? He tells you Jack is dead to make sure you'll never come back to Gotham. Then he tells Jack that _you're_ dead so he won't go looking for you." Emily said this all in a rush. "At least, that's what I think happened."

"Emily…I can't…I _can't_ …oh God—" Jeannie clapped a hand over her mouth so Lily couldn't hear her breakdown. "If it really is him…Jack, I mean—"

"Shhh, calm down," Emily said. "I'll find out as much as I can and keep you updated."

"There's no point," Jeannie replied firmly. "I'm flying to Gotham tonight."

"What?" she gasped. "Jeannie, _no!_ If Jack finds out you're still alive—"

"He's my _husband_! You can't expect me to just sit here and wait for news—"

"He's a psychopathic clown!" Emily screeched. "Who knows what he'll do to you?"

"But I know him—"

"Not anymore. People change. Imagine the psychological damage that was inflicted when he thought he lost you. He might have been Jack once, but now he's the Joker. Jack is gone."

Jeannie took a step back, as if physically hit by the words. "Fine," she said in a small voice. "I'll fly out tomorrow morning."

"What are you planning to do?" Emily asked harshly. "Stand out in the street and wait for him?"

"Like it or not, Em, I'll be there by tomorrow. The police or Batman will catch him soon enough and I'll visit him when he's safely behind bars. It's not like he hadn't killed anyone when I knew him," Jeannie said darkly.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Emily protested. "Gotham is not the same place—"

" _Emily_."

"All right, I can't stop you," her friend muttered. "But it's your funeral."

"I'll call you when I get there, okay?" Jeannie asked. There was no reply except for a click on the other end, and she was left with the dial tone buzzing in her ear.

* * *

Jeannie didn't sleep at all that night; she could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling with her mind working a mile a minute. Alternating images of Jack and the Joker flashed into her mind. She tried to connect Jack with the maniacal laughter of the clown wearing greasepaint, and found it was unfortunately all too easy.

"Oh, _Jack_ ," she said into the darkness. "What have you done to yourself?"

* * *

As soon as the faintest hint of light streaked the horizon the next morning, Jeannie rose and woke her daughter. "Are we going to see Grandma?" Lily asked innocently as Jeannie carried her out to the car.

Mrs. Kerr was currently in the hospital recovering from a hip operation. "No, honey. We're going to visit Uncle Liam," Jeannie replied.

Liam and Susan still lived in the city, with nearly-eight-year-old David and their two daughters, three-year-old Joanna and one-year-old Fiona.

Jeannie made the mistake of turning on the radio during the drive, right in the middle of the announcer saying, " _The Joker crashed billionaire Bruce Wayne's party last night at his—_ "

Shaking madly, Jeannie smashed the off button so hard it nearly broke right in two. She looked around to make sure Lily hadn't heard, but her daughter was busy staring out the window and singing the _Barney_ theme song to herself. Jeannie had an irrational urge to burst out into nervous laughter.

When they arrived at the Kerrs', Liam was already outside dressed in a business suit and looking as if he was about to leave for work. "Is there anything wrong, Jeannie?" he asked, but his words were drowned out by Lily's excited shriek as she spotted David and Joanna playing outside.

"Look, Jo!" David cried. "It's our four-year-old cousin!"

"I'm _five_ now!" Lily retorted indignantly.

"Four!"

"Five!" She chased him into the house and Joanna immediately followed, leaving Jeannie alone with her elder brother.

"I'm going back to Gotham," Jeannie said in response to her brother's questioning look. "I wanted to know if you could take care of Lily for a while."

Liam looked taken aback. " _Gotham_? Haven't you heard what's going on there now?"

"I have," Jeannie replied. "It's a personal matter, and I can't bring Lily along with me. Please, Liam?"

He sighed, rubbing his beard. "All right. I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Why is everyone telling me that?" Jeannie mumbled to herself, but gave her brother a thank-you hug all the same.

* * *

She went to say goodbye to Lily and found her daughter playing house with Joanna and Fiona while David pretended to run over the dolls with his toy trucks. "Honey, can I talk to you for a second?" she asked, gently taking Lily's hand and leading her into the hallway.

"I don't wanna go home yet, Mommy!" Lily protested, trying to pull away.

"You aren't, sweetheart. Listen…I have to go away for a while, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

Lily suddenly looked scared. "Where are you going?"

"A city called Gotham. Do you remember what I told you about it?"

"It's where you lived with Daddy before I was born!" Lily burst out, proud of herself for remembering such an important piece of information.

Jeannie nodded. "Well, I'm going back there for a couple of weeks. Can you be a big girl and stay here while I'm gone?"

Lily's lower lip began to tremble and she hugged Jeannie's waist. "I wanna go with you!"

"No, honey. I have to go alone," Jeannie said, stroking her hair. "But I'll be back. I promise."

"Wait!" exclaimed Lily. She ran back into the room and came out with Thumper, the stuffed rabbit Jeannie had given her when she was a baby. "Keep him so you don't forget me."

Jeannie nearly caved in and decided to bring her along right there, but it would be far too dangerous, not to mention selfish, so she forced herself to take the rabbit instead. "Of course I won't forget you!" she said. "I love you, sweetie."

"I love you too, Mommy!" Lily replied. Jeannie knelt down and kissed her, trying to blink away tears. She had never been away from her daughter for more than a day before, and had no idea how she would able to take it.

* * *

Liam drove her to the airport, shooting her dubious glances the entire time, and when they arrived Jeannie was all too happy to bid him goodbye. She stood at the gate and gave him a quick hug. "I'll be all right," she tried to assure him.

He looked at her doubtfully. "Don't convince me, convince yourself."

There were very few people on Jeannie's flight—it wasn't surprising in the least, considering Gotham wasn't a tourist-friendly city at the best of times. She soon felt herself drifting off to sleep as her body tried to make up for the sleepless night before. Jeannie gladly welcomed the brief oblivion—that way she didn't have to think any more about the sheer ridiculousness of what she was setting out to do.

* * *

Emily was waiting for her at the arrivals gate when the plane landed. "I'm an idiot for letting you come here," she said by way of a greeting. She jabbed a pair of sunglasses at Jeannie and yanked her hood up over her face.

"Em, you're being paranoid," Jeannie protested, but her friend held firm.

"The Joker made a threat on Anthony's life," she muttered as they hurried outside to where a sleek Rolls-Royce waited at the curb. "I'm booking you a room in the Ritz. It's not safe for you to stay at our house."

During the drive downtown, Jeannie half-expected to see a building explode or for there to be mass pandemonium in the streets, but everything seemed remarkably quiet, like the city was in a momentary slumber.

"There's a funeral later today," Emily told her. "The police commissioner was killed last night."

"By who?" Jeannie asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

"It was a poisoned drink," replied Emily. "But everyone knows who did it."

Although it was warm in the car, Jeannie couldn't stop the chill that enveloped her entire body at the words. She now realized that it had been pure stupidity to come back.


	3. October 2007: Evasion

It was rather ironic, Jeannie thought, that the first night she was spending back in Gotham was in the same hotel that she and Jack had stayed in so many years ago. Emily brought her up to her suite (which was more of an apartment, really) that looked out onto the street below, where hundreds of uniformed police officers were assembling on the sidewalk.

"Keep these curtains _closed_ ," Emily ordered, tugging the cord that pulled the drapes over the windows. The room was instantly cast into darkness.

"Why?" Jeannie asked irritably. She made to go over, but Emily held her back.

"The Joker is probably out there—"

"You mean Jack."

"No, I mean the Joker," Emily corrected. "Until he's caught, you are staying right here."

"And then what?" Jeannie challenged.

"And then we'll be able to confirm that he really is Jack. If he is, then we're getting you out of here." Emily looked solemn.

"You mean he can't know what really happened?"

"He can never know," Emily said. "Because if he does, he'll come after you. Tell me, do you _really_ want the man you saw on TV today coming after you?"

Jeannie lapsed into silence and Emily nodded, pleased to be proven right. "Now, I'm going to go out there," she said. "Whatever you do—whatever happens—do _not_ leave this room. Promise?"

She felt like a ten-year-old being instructed to sit still until class ended. Scowling, she watched Emily leave the room with narrowed eyes, even though she knew her friend was right. It _was_ too dangerous for her to go out alone. Batman couldn't save her in the middle of the day.

Jeannie pulled Thumper out of her purse and set him on her pillow, smiling faintly. The rabbit's glossy black eyes stared back at her, and she regretted taking him. Lily would put up a fit when she had to go to bed—she had never slept a night without the raggedy animal.

But that was a small price to pay knowing that she was safe back in Chicago. Jeannie knew she would be fine at Liam's house—she'd basically grown up there anyway. Her cousins were like siblings and Liam was the father figure she'd never had. If something _did_ happen to Jeannie, Liam and Susan would be her first choice for taking care of Lily.

Outside, the mournful sound of bagpipes began to play as the funeral procession made its way up the street. Jeannie went over to the window and stuck her head outside, watching the crowd of officers lining up in formation. Was Jack—Joker—around here somewhere, waiting to strike? The possibility that she was potentially close to him made her shiver, and she leaned even farther out of the window as she tried to get an even better view.

When everyone had lined up, Jeannie spotted a lone figure standing at a podium facing the group. That must be Anthony preparing to make a speech—the crowd quieted as he stepped up.

"Commissioner Loeb dedicated his life to law enforcement and to the protection of his community," Anthony began." I remember when I first took office and I asked him if he wanted to stay on as commissioner and—"

There was a sniper standing on the balcony in the building across the street from Jeannie, his gun trained on the crowd. He turned his head to look at her and she quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn't see her as a threat.

"Clearly he was not a man who minced words, nor should he have been. The number of policies he enacted as commissioner were unpopular, policies that flooded my office with angry calls and letters…"

Jeannie wondered if Anthony written the speech beforehand or was just making things up on the spot. It sounded like the latter.

"…And we must remember that vigilance is the price of safety." Anthony stood back from the podium as he ended the speech. The sniper across from Jeannie finally focused his attention on something else.

"Honor Guard!" the sergeant yelled. "Attention!"

Jeannie was by now leaning so far out of the window one wrong move would send her falling out.

"Ready!"

She scanned the sea of identical navy uniforms below; there was no way to tell if Jack was one of them, or even if he was there at all—

"Aim!"

The guards all raised their guns in perfect synchronization. Jeannie's eyes moved upwards to where Emily was sitting directly behind Anthony, her dark green coat instantly recognizable.

"Fire!"

There was a barrage of shots as the first round was fired.

"Ready! Aim! _Fire_!"

There was another round of gunshots, and then—one loud crack separate from the rest. Jeannie ducked back inside as the street exploded into pandemonium.

What had happened? Was the Joker around? Jeannie was about to sprint out of the room, disobeying her orders, when the door swung open and Emily herself ran in, looking fearful. "Get everything you need," she commanded.

"What? I just got here," Jeannie said in confusion.

"The things you _need_. You're coming back here as soon as it's safe." Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed Jeannie's arm and pulled her out the door, ignoring her protests.

"What happened?" Jeannie asked as they arrived at the elevator. When it failed to show up within ten seconds, Emily made a noise of impatience and led her down the stairs instead.

"The Joker tried to shoot Anthony," Emily called as they sprinted down the numerous flights. "But Sergeant Gordon threw himself in front of the bullet and was killed instead."

"The Joker was there?" Jeannie asked in a small voice. She was replaying she'd just witnessed in her head. He _had_ been there—she'd been so close to Jack—

"Yes," Emily said. "The police captured a few of his henchmen and they say he's escaped. He could easily check into this hotel under an alias. You're not safe here anymore."

"But I—" Jeannie began, but Emily shoved her through a back door and into the Rolls-Royce again, instructing the driver to go as fast as he could.

"We'll go to my house," she said as the car wove through pedestrians scrambling to escape from the area. "It's the safest place I can think of now."

"Isn't the entire reason you booked the hotel room because your house wasn't safe?" Jeannie asked. Her head was spinning from the events of the past day. Just twenty-four hours ago, her biggest worry had been whether to give Stuart detention for being late or not.

"It's safer than the hotel now," Emily replied. "I didn't think the Joker would actually do something there in front of everyone."

Jeannie paused. "Did you see him?"

Emily shook her head. "There too many people to focus on just one. He probably saw me, though."

The driver led them away from the city, into the sprawling countryside where the wealthy's estates and manors flashed by. Jeannie spotted the sign for Wayne Manor, and her eyes widened when she saw a team of construction workers standing near the skeleton of a house. "What happened?" she asked, craning her neck to look at the site.

"Oh, Bruce burned the entire thing down a few months ago," Emily said, not looking up from her phone. "They're rebuilding it now."

"So where is he staying?" Jeannie asked, although it was probably an idiotic question. Bruce Wayne had the money to buy the entire city if he wanted.

"Some penthouse downtown," Emily shrugged. "He threw a huge fundraise for the new DA last night and the Joker crashed it. Apparently he threw some woman out the window, but Batman saved her."

"Do you think Batman can save us now?" Jeannie asked quietly. Emily finally looked up, a hint of worry in her eyes.

"I hope he can," she replied. "He's our only chance."

* * *

The Garcias' estate was a huge mansion with a marble fountain and security guards posted at the gate. The house itself was made out of pure granite, with three courtyards and ten bedrooms. Jeannie figured Mr. and Mrs. Nashton were thrilled about their daughter's choice of husband—being the parents-in-law to the current mayor must boost their social status by an astronomical amount.

"How's Edward?" Jeannie ventured to ask.

Emily grimaced. "He's been in and out of Arkham for years. Sometimes he's perfectly normal, other times he's incoherent. I guess it'll be like that for the rest of his life."

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to Jeannie: she could no longer pity Emily anymore for having a family member in Arkham, when she was _married_ to someone who should be in Arkham.

As soon as they stepped inside, two little boys rushed to meet Emily. "Guys, go back to Naomi," she insisted, indicating the young woman chasing after them who Jeannie assumed was the babysitter.

"Who are _you_?" the older boy asked bluntly, looking up at Jeannie. He looked to be Lily's age, so she assumed this was Evan.

"I'm a…friend of your mother's," she replied.

"I've never seen you before." He glared at Emily, who prodded him into the next room. "Be polite," she hissed in his ear.

Meanwhile, the younger boy, two-year-old Tyler, merely looked quizzical. "Where's Daddy?" he asked.

"Daddy is going to be at work for a while," Emily answered. "Now, please don't disturb us. We're going to be busy."

Leaving them with the babysitter, she closed the door and came back into the hallway. "They shouldn't bother us for the rest of the day. Now, have you ever dyed your hair before?"

"What?" Jeannie asked. "No."

"Any ideas what color you want it dyed? Brown? Black? Red?"

"Emily, what are you doing?" Jeannie felt slightly apprehensive as Emily led her upstairs and into a grand bedroom where she was shoved down in front of a vanity table.

"You're about to find out." Emily held up a bottle of hair dye. "Come _on_ , Jeannie, you didn't honestly think I was going to let you run around Gotham looking like _that_?"

* * *

Six hours later, Jeannie felt like she'd morphed into a different person. Her hair had been dyed black, she was wearing brown contacts, her face was covered with makeup, and the pants Emily loaned her were so tight it would probably have been easier to sew her into them. In short, she was dressed the exact opposite of how she usually did. She looked utterly unrecognizable, and not in a good way. "All you need to do is talk in an accent from now on and you're set," Emily said. "Can you do French?"

"I look like I can't decide whether to go to a bar or a funeral," Jeannie groaned. She couldn't believe the strange woman in the mirror was actually her.

"At least this way the Joker won't recognize you," Emily said. "Something is missing, though. Would you mind if I take you to a piercing shop?"

"Yes, I would!" Jeannie exclaimed. "Don't you think you're going overboard?"

"In Gotham, you can never go too overboard," Emily replied grimly. "Now, let's—"

Her words were interrupted as Evan flew into the room. "Mommy, Mommy! Batman is Harvey Dent! They're showing it on TV!"

" _What_?" Emily asked, hurrying out of the room. Jeannie followed more slowly, feeling as if she was even moving differently in the new pants. Really, how could Emily _walk_ in these things? She'd had two children.

Downstairs, Evan was jumping up and down, pointing excitedly at the screen. "…District Attorney Harvey Dent has just revealed that he is the Batman and is being taken into custody as we speak," the news announcer was saying. The screen cut to a blond man being shoved into a police car.

"Harvey Dent is Batman?" Emily asked apprehensively. "He's been over here so many times…" She looked uneasily around the room, as if the objects in it had suddenly been tainted with the presence of Batman. "I wonder how long Anthony's known about this…"

When Jeannie went back upstairs, the incessant beeping of her phone informed her that she had seven missed calls, and they were all from Liam.

Her heart immediately sped up. Had something happened to Lily? She waited impatiently for him to pick up, drumming her fingers on the desk and staring at the peculiar, dark-haired woman in the mirror.

"Jeannie," he finally answered. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"Yes, I'm at the Garcias'," she said. "Supposedly it's the safest place in Gotham right now, although Emily doesn't seem to be too sure—."

"You're flying home tonight, right?" he asked. "I'll meet you at the airport."

"I'm not planning to come back for a while, Liam. Why do you ask?"

He made an exasperated noise. "Why do I _ask_? Have you _seen_ the news? Have you realized who the Joker bears a very strong resemblance to?"

"Yes, I'm ninety-nine point nine percent positive I know who the Joker is," Jeannie retorted. "Is Lily all right?"

"She's fine," Liam said. "But _you_ won't be if you stay there any longer."

"I think I'll take my chances," Jeannie answered, and hung up on him.

* * *

It was dark when Anthony finally got home, looking absolutely spent. He didn't even react when he saw Jeannie, instead going straight up to bed. Emily offered to drive Jeannie back to the hotel at midnight, remarking that she would be safer since she looked so different.

Jeannie hadn't spoken much during the evening; she'd been ignoring Liam's repeated calls and obsessively worrying about what the Joker was planning to do next. With Batman unmasked, the Joker could do whatever he wanted to the city. Jeannie knew he wouldn't stop. If he really _was_ Jack, he would just continue to go on his terror rampage. The citizens were either so gullible or so desperate that they'd caved into his demands. It was the worst possible thing they could have done.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" Emily offered when they re-entered the city limits.

"No, I'll be fine," Jeannie answered, though she wasn't completely certain about her answer. Whether or not someone was with her, she would be getting very little sleep that night.

"I'll ask a guard to stay—" Emily began, but her sentence was cut short as an enormous eighteen-wheeler truck zoomed past them, so close it nearly tore the mirror right off. It was swerving from side to side erratically, as if the driver had lost control of the steering wheel.

Just ahead of the truck, there was a sudden loud boom and an explosion rocked the street; a fireball lit up the sky. Jeannie saw a dark figure perched on what looked like some sort of motorcycle emerge from the wreckage.

Emily threw open her door in an attempt to see it better. "Oh my God," she breathed, sounding almost awed. "It's Batman!"

"You mean Harvey Dent?" Jeannie asked.

"No—unless he managed to escape," Emily said in confusion. "I— _holy shit_ —"

Batman had shot directly under the truck and was heading straight for them, swerving around the lampposts. As he passed them, each one in turn was uprooted right from the concrete and came crashing down.

Jeannie and Emily dove out of the car just in time for him to shoot right by them. There was a resounding crash and the truck up ahead flipped backwards onto the pavement below where it lay in the middle of the road, a lone curl of smoke rising from the wreckage.

"Welcome to Gotham?" Jeannie asked weakly.

Batman didn't even glance at the two women—his attention was solely focused on the now upside-down truck. The bike shot forward again and it hurled at incredible speed toward the fallen truck.

"Someone just climbed out of it!" Emily gasped. "Look!"

Sure enough, Jeannie could see the dim outline of a tall figure getting to its feet and then moving right in the bike's path. There was a series of deafening shots as the cars zooming by were suddenly hit by a storm of bullets.

"Is that a gun?" Jeannie asked stupidly. Emily grabbed her arm and pulled her out of range as glass shattered everywhere.

Meanwhile, Batman was still headed directly for the lone figure. For a split second, Jeannie was sure the bike was going to run it over, but at the very last second it veered sharply to the right and went around the figure instead.

A police car zoomed by them, lights flashing, and seconds later the entire area was surrounded. A swarm of officers gathered in a group, but soon the area cleared and the figure Batman had been chasing was being pulled to its feet and handcuffed.

"What was _that_?" Jeannie asked in a strangled voice as she watched the police roughly shove the figure into the back of the car.

"That," Emily said slowly, "was the Joker."


	4. October 2007: Unrecognizable

Liam and Susan had been arguing for a half hour straight—a rare occurrence for them. As soon as he got home from school, David ran upstairs, looking excited. "They're talking about you!" he said to Lily, who was sitting on the floor brushing her doll's hair. "Don't you want to hear what they're saying?"

She frowned at him. "Mommy told me it's wrong to snoop."

David groaned and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Lily. Are you a scaredy-cat?"

She shook her head, torn between proving herself and obeying her mother. "No, I'm not," she finally said.

"Then let's go!" David ran out of the room and Lily slowly followed him.

The two children kneeled at the door to the living room, David pressing his ear up against the wood.

"…dangerous for her to be there by herself," Liam was saying. "She's not listening to me. He _will_ find her somehow."

"Oh, come on," Susan replied. "If the mayor's house isn't safe, then I don't know where is—"

"He tried to _kill_ the mayor earlier today," hissed Liam. "What does she think she's going to do, _reform_ him? That he's going to apologize for his crimes and live happily ever after with her and Lily? Jack was never like that."

"Jeannie knows more than she lets on," Susan tried to pacify him. "She's not telling us everything."

"The truth doesn't matter! She's going to get herself killed if she doesn't come back here! With the Joker running around loose, no one is safe!"

Lily's eyes were as wide as saucers. "I don't know what they mean! Is Mommy in danger?"

"Do you know who Jack is?" David asked.

"Jack is Daddy's name, but Mommy says he's watching over us in heaven. Maybe he's keeping her safe," Lily said hopefully.

"Not if the Joker gets her!" David replied eagerly. "I saw him on TV. He's a clown who murders people."

"B—but clowns aren't evil," protested Lily. "They're nice!"

"Not this one!" David exclaimed. He stretched his mouth into an unnaturally wide smile. "I'm going to come and get you!" he growled.

Lily screamed, and promptly burst into tears. Liam and Susan immediately came running. "David Kerr!" Liam scolded. "You know not to eavesdrop on other people's conversations."

"Aw, Dad, I was just trying to have fun," David said. "She's just a scaredy-cat."

"Am not!" Lily argued through her tears.

"Are too!"

"Am _not_!"

Before a full-scale war could break out, Liam ushered David away, sharply chastising him. Susan hugged Lily comfortingly. "I want Mommy back," she sobbed, rubbing her eyes.

"She'll be back soon," Susan tried her best to reassure her. "Now, listen, it's past your bedtime. How about I read you a story?"

Lily sniffled and nodded. "Can it be Snow White?"

"Anything you want," Susan said. She took Lily by the hand and gently led her upstairs to Joanna's room. "Is this room fine?"

"Only if there are no monsters," Lily hiccupped. "Thumper chases the monsters away, but I gave him to Mommy."

"I promise there are no monsters," Susan said, although she was only referring to the room. There _was_ a monster, but he was far away and, unfortunately, more connected to her young niece than she dared to think about.

* * *

"Okay," Jeannie said as she watched the police car with the Joker inside drive away, "Do you think they'll let us into the police station?"

Emily looked incredulous. "Jeannie, you're not thinking of going there _now_ , are you?"

"The agreement was that you would take me to see him when he was caught. Now he's caught." Jeannie's exhaustion had all but disappeared.

"Maybe we should wait until tomorrow…" Emily said, but Jeannie's glare made her trail off.

"Fine," she groaned. "Anthony's probably on his way over anyway."

* * *

It took them forty minutes to get to the police station in the mass of traffic that was lined up on the streets, and another twenty to sneak inside. Jeannie had been in the station many times before, when her father had been an officer, but the layout had changed in the years since she'd last been inside. Emily snuck her through a door she hadn't previously known about, down a short hallway, and finally through a concrete door labeled "Holding Cells." Jeannie could just make out the outline of steel bars and a crowd of officers before Emily blocked her view, pulling a pair of glasses out of her pocket.

"Em, I can't even see out of these," Jeannie said, but she was so panicky her voice sounded faraway and very unlike her.

"We have to make sure he doesn't recognize you," Emily replied.

"I don't even recognize myself," Jeannie answered, though she wasn't even sure of what she was saying anymore.

"Emily!" a distant voice sounded, and someone broke off from the group to approach them.

"Anthony, don't," Emily said, snapping to attention and suddenly sounding very different. "I was worried about you."

"Worr—you don't need to be worried about me," he said, looking shocked. "I've done this every day for the past three years—"

"But the Joker is different," Emily pleaded. "I had to make sure you were all right."

"Who's this, anyway?" he asked, looking at Jeannie. "Weren't you at our house earlier?"

Before she could respond, Emily cut in with, "This is Sheila Moore. She's a friend from work."

Jeannie was astounded, but she tried her best to mask her surprise. Anthony hadn't recognized her, and Emily was trying to cover up so he wouldn't discover their true intentions. She felt an enormous rush of gratitude for her friend.

"She can't be here," Anthony insisted. "It's dangerous and the Joker is a threat to—"

"Mayor Garcia!" one of the officers called, and, casting a dark look back at them, Anthony hurried back to the group. Emily looped her arm around Jeannie's and led her over to the holding cells.

The first thing Jeannie noticed was the color. The vivid green and purple stood out against the muted, dim lighting and the gray walls, contrasting starkly with the neutral clothes everyone else wore.

The other prisoners gave him a wide berth. Most of them were banging on the bars or quarrelling amongst each other—all except for _him._ He sat perfectly still, his hands on his thighs, legs spread apart, staring up at the officers crowding around him with an unfathomable expression.

White greasepaint messily covered his face and his eyes were masked with kohl, but Jeannie knew his posture and demeanor well enough to tell that this was definitely him.

Oh, yes, this was Jack.

"Yes or no?" Emily murmured into her ear. Jeannie inclined her head forward as much as she dared to, signaling a nod. Her friend stiffened as she looked at the Joker with new eyes.

But really, had she expected anything different?

"Stand away! All of you. I don't want anything for his mob lawyer to use, understand?" A man with peppery gray hair and glasses strode into the room. Jeannie recognized him instantly: he was one of her father's old coworkers, James Gordon. But hadn't Emily said he was killed?

"Commissioner Gordon!" Anthony said, clapping him on the back. "Back from the dead, I see?"

Gordon gave a slight nod. "I couldn't chance my family's safety."

"So what do we got?" Anthony asked, gesturing to the Joker.

The officer shook his head, looking frustrated. " _Nothing_ ," he said with a sigh. "No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias…nothing."

Of course there would be nothing, Jeannie thought. There wouldn't be any records for someone who was declared dead years ago—if Jack had even _been_ on the records in the first place.

"Go home, Gordon," Anthony said kindly, apparently noticing his exhaustion as well. "The clown'll keep till morning. Go get some rest—you're going to need it. Tomorrow you take the big job—you don't have any say in the matter—Commissioner Gordon."

The room broke into applause. Emily clapped, so Jeannie felt it safe to begin clapping as well. Her hands were sweaty and clammy with fear.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, breaking into a cold sweat when she saw that the Joker, arms now outstretched, had also begun to clap.

One by one, everyone stopped until he was the only one left clapping, the sound echoing through the room. "Freak," one of the officers muttered audibly, but that, if anything, only seemed to widen the Joker's grin.

"Let's go," Emily whispered in Jeannie's ear, so quietly that she barely mouthed the words. But Jeannie didn't move. She was still staring at the Joker, taking in every aspect of him that she knew so well, from the long limbs to the curly hair to the scars…it was Jack, but he was altered, twisted far beyond what she remembered.

And…was it all her fault? If she hadn't disappeared, would he still have been _normal_? Could he have _ever_ been what constituted "normal" in society?

"What should we do with him now?" Gordon asked Anthony in a low voice, hooking his thumbs in his belt. "We can't keep him in there with those men. He'll kill one of them soon enough."

"I have a suggestion, Com- _miss_ -ioner," a new voice drawled. Jeannie shivered to hear the Joker speak—so slowly and deliberately, exactly like how Jack used to. But his voice had changed—it was grating and high-pitched, not the deep baritone she was used to. Why would he change his voice?

Anthony and Gordon turned to look at him, and the Joker leaned forward, basking in the attention. "Have you considered _removing_ me from the—ah—possible targets? Isn't it easier to move just one person?"

Gordon stared at the Joker, sizing him up. Pretending to be impatient, the Joker turned to Anthony. "Wouldn't you agree, Mayor Garcia?" he asked. "Or…should I be asking someone else? Does your wife make your decisions _for_ you?"

His head turned in Jeannie's direction for the first time. Emily's face froze as if under a mask. Like everyone else in the room, she was unable to speak. Somehow the Joker had subverted the conversation so that he was now the one in control. An eerie quiet settled over the room.

"What do _you_ think?" he continued, and Jeannie turned to see him looking right at her. He was glaring up at her through hooded eyes, and his lips were curved upward in a cruel smile.

Jack.

Joker.

Her fear was outlined plainly on her face, and luckily the Joker interpreted that as generic terror. He let out his breath in a mock-annoyed sigh. "Oh, come on. I can't hurt you now, can I?" He gestured to the iron bars of the cell. "I was just asking a _question_."

"I don't know," she whispered, barely audibly.

"You don't _know_ ," he repeated, his voice mocking hers. "That's a bit of a… _useless_ opinion, isn't it?"

Jeannie was past the point of trying to reasonably talk to him now. She nodded mechanically, looking for any trace of recognition in his eyes.

"Bring him to the interrogation room," Gordon ordered. He turned to Emily. "Mrs. Garcia, I would suggest escorting your friend elsewhere, as she looks like she is about to faint."

Emily nodded. "Let's go, _Sheila_ ," she said. Jeannie couldn't move, so Emily had to forcibly lead her away.

"Let's just hope you know how to _walk_ , hmmm?" the Joker called after her. While the officers crowded around him, Emily led her back downstairs and into the cold autumn night.

"It's Jack," Jeannie gulped. "It's _him_ —"

"I know," Emily said solemnly. "You really don't look well, Jeannie."

"I don't _feel_ well," replied Jeannie. It was true—shock as well as exhaustion was beginning to catch up with her.

"Listen," said Emily, "I'll bring you back to the hotel. You need just as much rest as the new Commissioner does."

Jeannie nodded mutely, and was asleep within seconds of reaching the car.

* * *

When she woke up, she was breathing the musty hotel smell and lying on an unfamiliar bed. She was drowsy and disoriented, sure signs she had been asleep for a long time.

They were back in her hotel suite, Emily sitting cross-legged on the bed across from her and watching TV at a low volume. Jeannie felt like she had been asleep for days, but the closed drapes and lamps indicated that it was dark outside.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Emily said when she saw Jeannie stir. "You've been out for a while."

"How long?" Jeannie asked, slowly sitting up.

"Twenty-three hours and forty-six minutes," Emily replied, shaking her head. "It's a good thing you were unconscious. I was debating whether or not to wake you up for a while."

"What happened?" Jeannie asked. The grainy images on TV were showing a line of police cars pulling up into the gates of Arkham.

"To make a long story short…the Joker escaped jail, blew up a hospital, and nearly blew up two ferries filled with people trying to escape Gotham before Batman stopped him," Emily said. "Oh, and did I mention Batman murdered Harvey Dent and is now a wanted fugitive?"

"Oh," Jeannie said in a small voice. "Maybe if I go back to sleep again, I'll wake up and the city will have self-destructed."

Emily ordered room service and filled Jeannie on the details while she ate. Apparently, the Joker had been taken directly to Arkham and would not undergo a trial for at least a couple of weeks, while they stuffed him full of sedatives and medications. Jeannie could half-understand their reasons for wanting to do this: the Joker was at his normal self was a lethal force, so they might as well decrease the risk of another catastrophe if they had him under the proper medications.

"When do you think they'll let me visit him?" Jeannie asked.

Emily looked alarmed. "Probably never—he's probably the most high-security patient Arkham has ever had. And I thought we decided that you'll be going home now. I can bring you to the airport anytime you want."

The terror Jeannie would feel at seeing the Joker again was nothing compared to the agony of knowing that he was still alive, somewhere on the other side of the country, incarcerated. She had to see him again. Murderous psychopath or not, she had to tell him what really happened.

"Emily, you can't stop me," Jeannie said. "You might think you know what's best for me, but I know what I'm doing. How would you feel if you were in my position and it was Anthony who was in Arkham?"

"Jeannie, that's the problem. You don't _know_ what you're doing," Emily said. "He blew up a hospital and nearly killed thousands of people. Who knows if he'll even recognize you?"

"He has to know the truth."

"But what if he escapes? He'll come after _you_ , Jeannie. Or what if he doesn't even remember who you are?"

Jeannie sighed. She could do nothing more to persuade Emily. She didn't know Jack like she had—she had never been in love with him like she was. Jack still had to be inside the Joker, somewhere deep down. Jeannie had memorized every inch of his body, his weaknesses and his strengths. She knew Jack better than anyone ever had. For God's sake, she had even given birth to his daughter! If anyone had the right to see him now, it had to be her.

"I know what I can do," Jeannie said suddenly. Emily looked up, alarmed. "I can think of a way to check if he remembers me."

"How?" Emily asked.

Jeannie shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."

But, hopefully, the Joker would.

* * *

Since she had just slept for twenty-four hours straight, she wasn't tired in the least anymore. Emily drove home to get some sleep and to check on Anthony, leaving Jeannie alone in the hotel. She didn't mind being alone now; not since she had begun to form a plan.

It was probably an idiotic, stupidly reckless idea. But Jeannie had to see the Joker again. She wanted to prove that there was still some trace of Jack remaining, miniscule or not.

Ironically, the least of her worries was getting herself injured or killed. But Jeannie wasn't thinking straight. All she knew was that her husband, whom she had thought dead for five years, was still alive. She would do anything it took to see him again, no matter who he was now.

When the early-morning light began to stain the room, Jeannie had her plan figured out. If the Joker responded to her cue, she would tell him what happened. But if he didn't recognize it, she would give up and leave. After all, there was no point in continuing if he couldn't remember who she was.

Jeannie feared him not remembering even more than she feared him remembering. She had a vague idea of how she would react, although it wasn't a very pleasant prospect. A mouse didn't push its luck when a lion gave it a reprieve.

The phone on the bedside table rang and she frowned at it. Who would be calling her here? "Miss," a voice said when she answered, "You have visitors in the lobby."

"Visitors?" Jeannie asked. Was Emily back already?

"He says his name is Liam."

 _Liam_? What was he doing in Gotham? "All right," Jeannie said, voice shaking. "Send them up."

While she waited for him to arrive, she paced the room nervously. He must have come to drag her back to Chicago—she couldn't think of any other reason.

But when there was a knock on her door minutes later, Liam wasn't the first person she saw. "Lily?" she asked in surprise as a blonde streak rushed at her.

"Mommy, you look so different!" Lily exclaimed. "I don't look like you anymore."

"I had a bit of a makeover," Jeannie replied, averting her eyes from Liam's knowing look.

"I missed you so much!" her daughter continued. "We were on an airplane and it was so high up I thought we were in space because everything was so small! Aunt Susan said I was brave because I wanted to see out the window, but I wasn't scared at all!"

Jeannie looked over her shoulder at Liam, who shrugged. "Listen, Jeannie, Susan's mother just had a stroke and we're going to visit her," he said. Susan's parents had moved to a villa in the south of France. "It's convenient that we have a layover in Gotham. Now that the Joker's been locked up, I figured it was safe to bring Lily back to you."

"Thank you," Jeannie said weakly as she watched him leave. Although she was glad to see Lily again, the last thing she wanted was for her to be in the middle of everything.

But she didn't _have_ to be, Jeannie realized. She could take her to Emily, at least for the day. Emily was Lily's godmother; she would surely agree to take care of her while Jeannie went to Arkham. Then, if the Joker didn't recognize her, it would be easy to just go back to Chicago with her.

But…what if he _did_ recognize her? Jeannie didn't want to think about the outcome of that.

It was a long shot, but Lily was the one thing she could not bear to lose.


	5. October 2007: Reunited

"Why did you come back here, Mommy?" Lily asked while they were driving to Emily's. Jeannie had spent an entire hour persuading the hotel receptionist to give her a rental car for the day.

Jeannie bit her lip. She hated lying to her daughter, but it was necessary in this situation. "I just wanted to see how the city's changed," she said lamely. "There are some things I have to do."

"What things?"

"Oh, see how my old friends are doing and such," Jeannie replied, feeling like her lies were written plainly on her face.

"So why did you leave me behind?" She imagined Lily giving her an accusing glare.

There was no putting anything past her. It was time to use the excuse her own mother had used on her countless times. "I'll explain it when you're older."

To her relief, Lily fell silent. Jeannie was just about to congratulate herself when she piped up, "Okay, I'm older now!" with an impish grin that reminded Jeannie painfully of Jack.

Jeannie sighed. "Honey, we're on a vacation," she said firmly. "Please don't ask me again."

Lily pouted but dropped the matter. Jeannie felt a sense of relief when the Garcias' mansion came into view. "People _live_ there?" Lily gasped, pressing her hands against the window.

"Yes, Emily and her family live there," Jeannie said. "Do you remember Emily?"

Lily shook her head. "Why is it bigger than our house?"

"Because her husband is rich."

"Why?"

Her incessant questions were beginning to get on Jeannie's already-stretched nerves. "Because he's the mayor," she said, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Emily met them at the door. Her worried expression quickly smoothed over into a practiced smile when she saw Lily. "You've gotten so tall, cutie!" she exclaimed. "Last time I saw you, you were only two years old. And you're still the mirror image of your mother, I see."

She was holding the door open, and a black blur rushed out of the house, barking joyfully. "Roscoe, stop!" Emily ordered, but he had already jumped on Lily, who shrieked with happiness.

" _Roscoe_?" Jeannie asked in wonder. She'd known that the Rottweiler had gone with the Garcias after the fire, but Emily had never mentioned him and she hadn't seen him when she was previously at their house, so she'd assumed he was gone.

"Yes, that's him," Emily said proudly as she watched the dog curiously sniff Lily. "I meant to introduce him to you, but we were so busy there was no time."

When Roscoe turned to Jeannie, she held out her hand. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been a fast-growing puppy. Now he was a huge, intimidating dog, nearly as tall as Lily. "Do you remember me, boy?" Jeannie asked. Roscoe trotted over to her and sniffed her hand. She held her breath: her and Jack had only been his owners for eight months when he was a puppy, while the Garcias had him for five years—he couldn't possibly recognize her.

But he was sniffing her hand as if searching for something. After a while, he licked it and looked up at her trustingly. Jeannie laughed. Whether or not he actually remembered, it was nice to know he liked her.

"Can I have a puppy?" Lily asked, tugging on her shirt.

"Maybe one day," Jeannie answered vaguely. "You have a goldfish at home, remember?"

"But he's _boring_ ," Lily protested, crossing her arms. "He just swims around."

"I think that's the point," Jeannie said, half-laughing. "All you have to do is feed him. No effort required whatsoever."

While Lily continued to play with Roscoe, throwing him sticks to fetch, Emily muttered, "How did she get here?"

Jeannie quickly explained the emergency with Susan's family and that Liam had brought her to Gotham. "I hope you don't mind if she stays with you this afternoon," she finished. "She's a good kid."

"Oh, I don't mind at all," said Emily. "She's very upbeat." She paused before continuing, "I can see a bit of Jack in her, aside from the eyes, of course. She has his way of walking and she scrunches up her face when she's upset exactly like he did." She laughed. "I'm sure she'll start to resemble Jack more as she gets older."

Jeannie sighed. "I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing."

"Why are you leaving again?" Lily asked as Jeannie climbed back into the car. "Why can't I go with you?"

"Because you wouldn't have fun," she replied. "Play with the boys and make some new friends."

Lily paused, her hand still suspended on Roscoe's head. "Are you coming back?"

"Yes," Jeannie answered. "I promise I'll be back by tonight. I _promise_."

Emily raised one hand in a worried wave as she drove away.

* * *

Jeannie's trepidation only increased as she neared the city. The only positive aspect was the assurance that Lily was in good hands.

Jeannie was trying not to think too hard about what she was planning to do. She knew that if the logical side of her brain managed to catch up, she would never be able to go through with it. The only thought that was pushing her was the thought of Jack, the man who was still alive after five years of Jeannie's emotional and mental torture believing he was dead.

On shaking legs, she parked the car and walked slowly up to the front doors, making hesitant eye contact with the guard. They had definitely amped up security in the past years.

"Name?" he asked menacingly.

"Sheila Moore," Jeannie answered. "I'm here to visit Edward Nashton." She reached into her pocket and handed him the fake note that she'd gotten Emily to sign.

He grumbled at it before handing it back to her. "Make sure you have a guard with you," he said.

Wow, that seemed even stricter. Jeannie wondered if the Joker was the reason they had tightened security that significantly. The thought almost made her stop in her tracks, but after a minute of deep, calming breaths she headed inside.

To her surprise, there was no one in sight. _So much for the guard,_ she thought dryly, although it was exactly what she'd hoped for. If anyone caught her, she could just say she'd gotten lost.

From her previous visits, Jeannie knew that the high-security wing was at the very top floor. The Joker was likely to be in the most secure cell of all. She found the stairs easily and ran up the countless flights to the top, emerging winded and out of breath.

These cell doors were made of concrete and tiny windows offered the only glimpses inside—they were probably wired with thousands of volts. Jeannie quietly tiptoed down the hall, feeling a sense of despair—it would be impossible to tell which one belonged to the Joker.

"You're not supposed to be up here," a voice said from behind her. Jeannie whirled around and saw a familiar face—though aged, it was the male version of Emily's.

"Edward," she responded in shock. "Why aren't you in your cell?"

"I have janitor duty," he said, pointing to the cloth he held in one hand. "I'm supposedly one of their 'best patients', so I get to clean cells until they deem me fit to leave again, after which I'll be thrown back in here after three weeks."

"But you—you sound normal," she blurted out. The comment sounded blunter than she'd intended for it to be.

"I was always normal," Edward replied. "It's everyone else who isn't."

Jeannie frowned. Emily had told her that he was deceptively fine when he was on his medication. He was probably on it now and that was why he was coherent. "Aren't you going to ask me what a five-letter synonym for chaos is?" she asked.

He gave her a hard look, his green eyes scathing. "I'm past that foolishness."

"I'm supposed to be visiting you, you know," she said. "But I'm looking for the Joker—"

"You mean Napier?" Edward asked, and Jeannie winced. "I'm the only one here who knows who he is, since I doubt anyone else is intelligent enough to have figured it out. He's a loose cannon. His strategies don't turn out because he relies too much on chaos. Carefully methodical plans work best—"

Now he was beginning to sound like the Edward Jeannie knew. "Which room is he in?" she asked quickly, and Edward nodded at a cell at the other end of the hallway. "The code is 2560," he said, and abruptly vanished.

Jeannie was startled by his fast disappearance until she heard voices in the distance. Quickly, she rounded the nearest corner and hid behind it, catching sight of two doctors walking down the hallway.

"…impossible to cure," one, a middle-aged balding man, was saying. "He's far beyond any sort of treatment. It's a waste of time and money to even try."

"Maybe this girl can help," the second doctor, a young, handsome man, replied. "She has high credentials and she rehabilitated a drug addict who was thought to be irredeemable."

"How old is she, twenty-four?" snorted the first man. "She's still a child. He'll break her like she's made of glass."

"Dr. Arkham himself recommended Harleen Quinzel. When's she supposed to be arriving in Gotham? Tomorrow?"

"That's what he told us. I'll bet it won't even take her a week to quit." The voices slowly faded until they disappeared, and Jeannie let out a breath. They must be planning for the Joker to undergo therapy. If they were hiring a psychologist from outside Gotham, they really must be desperate.

When she was sure the coast was clear, Jeannie crept to the cell Edward had pointed out, standing on her tiptoes to peer through the window. Her long-silent heart thudded at the sight behind the glass.

The Joker's cell was surprisingly small. It contained four concrete walls, some parts of which were smeared with a red substance; a bed that was little more than a cot; and a jar sitting in the corner. It reminded Jeannie of a zoo. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the inmates in the asylum.

The Joker was dressed in an orange jumpsuit that was streaked with dirt and filth. He looked nothing like the images on television; his normally blond hair was dark brown and dripping with grease. His makeup had worn off, but patches of white were still caked on his forehead and chin. But the emaciated face was one Jeannie would know anywhere. And those eyes…there were no words.

"Jack," she whispered, her breath creating a cloud on the glass. He was asleep on the cot, but his face was creased as if he was awake and thinking hard about something.

Staring at him, contemplating her memories and the eight years she had known him, Jeannie was faced with an awful truth.

He was broken, that was for sure. From the moment he was conceived, Jack Napier had never been _whole_. He existed on a different dimension from the rest of humanity, looking back at the world and laughing at how insignificant everybody else was. That was why Arkham wasn't making any progress with him—they were trying to break something that was already broken. Maybe they hoped that if he was pushed to the limit, he would become sane again, just like sane people became _in_ sane when they went over the edge. But Jeannie couldn't tell them that it didn't work both ways, that the Joker had no limits. They wouldn't believe her.

She knew him better than anyone. He knew her better than anyone. Compared to him, she was horribly mundane, just another worthless human life. But for some abysmal reason, he had picked _her_. Jeannie was just beginning to realize how unusual that was: did that mean there was something wrong with her as well? Why else would Jack Napier single her out in eighth grade and stick with her from then on? Was she somehow a distorted reflection of him; did he see himself in her? Perhaps she was broken as well and wasn't even aware of it.

Her thoughts continued spiraling into an increasingly more destructive pattern as she stared fixedly at the unconscious man slumped on the floor. The Joker—Jack—was never normal, _could_ never be normal. The closest he had been to ordinary was when he was with her. She remembered on certain days he would act like there was nothing wrong at all, and they were blissfully happy. They had just been a typical young couple…

It was then that things suddenly clicked. Jeannie's previous assumptions had been wrong: she _was_ normal, she was fine. Jack had fallen in love with her for exactly that: she'd _helped_ him become normal. Whether or not he realized it, there was a part of him, once, that had wanted to be like everyone else. Maybe, just maybe, if things had turned out differently, he could have achieved that goal.

When she'd supposedly died, the part of him that was still vulnerable, still _human_ , had been severed. Her assumed death had chased away all hopes for him to be a regular man. And she'd come back too late.

Jeannie knew she had to get out of there immediately. She would take Lily and leave Gotham, possibly even leave the country. She represented the last shred of Jack Napier's humanity and if he ever found out she was still alive, he would destroy her. He had worked for five years to distance himself from everything—surely he wouldn't allow her to ruin that.

Jeannie took a careful step backwards, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from him. The Joker was not her husband anymore. Jack was gone.

She blinked viciously to hold back the tears and with one last look, turned around and started to walk away. It was the hardest thing she had ever done; each step tore out her heart a little bit more. Her heart thudded like a tribal drum in her ears: _do it, do it, do it._ It wasn't safe in Gotham for her and Lily anymore.

Jeannie was halfway to the door and halfway dead inside when there was a rustling from the Joker's cell. A thin, weary voice, not at all like the high-pitched cackle she'd heard on television, called out, "Come to visit me _again_?"

Dear God, no. Jeannie stopped dead and slowly turned back to face him. The Joker was sitting up and gripping the bars of his cell, staring back at her. She cleared her throat. "I was—I was just—"

"Just _what_?" he asked, a silkily dangerous tone slipping into his voice. "You couldn't leave me alone, could you?" He must recognize her from the police station.

When Jeannie didn't respond, he made a mock disappointed noise and shook his head. "Listen, dollface—do you wanna know how I got these scars?"

"Not really," said Jeannie, but her voice cracked painfully.

The Joker didn't buy her words and rolled his eyes. "When I was ten, I wanted to be a _clown_. I loved clowns. They were always so happy and _smiling_. I was a quiet kid, see. Didn't have much self-esteem. Anyway, one day I was at the circus, and one of the clowns had dropped out of their act, so I decided to take his place! Well, I tried out, and got the job. But the other clowns didn't like me. They didn't think I had the proper _disposition_. So, they took their knives and cut my cheeks open—like _this_ —so I would always be smiling."

"Liar," she whispered, but the words were stuck in her throat.

"Do you have, ah, a _better_ suggestion?" he asked.

Jeannie reached into her pocket and closed her fingers around the coin. She clenched her first and raised her hand up, shaking visibly. The Joker watched her with detached interest as she opened her hand and then pinched the coin between her fingers, tossing it upward. There was a loud _ping_ and then a smack as it hit the palm of her hand again.

" _You're the new girl, right?"_

" _Yeah. I'm Jennifer."_

" _Jack."_

Their first ever conversation was running through her mind, although she couldn't be sure what the Joker was thinking. Jeannie was staring at him now with unrestrained fear, her heart literally racing a mile a minute.

The Joker began to laugh. He just sat there, in his cell, and emitted the most bone-chilling laugh Jeannie had ever heard. The noise reverberated around the walls, becoming louder and louder until it sounded like a hundred Jokers were laughing at once.

But as Jeannie stood there, frozen, the laughs began to even out, until they became a low growl that was almost a scream as the Joker suddenly grabbed the bars of his cell and rattled them with a formidable strength.

Jeannie let out an involuntary yelp and jumped backwards, running as fast as she could away from his cell. Her last sight was of the Joker looking absolutely livid, shaking the bars and screaming with a voice that did not sound entirely human.


	6. October 2007: Fallen

Jeannie was trembling uncontrollably as she numbly hurried down the flights of stairs, ignoring the questions thrown her way by the staff. She had just made what was quite possibly the biggest mistake of her life by revealing herself to the Joker. Now he knew she was alive…and he would want revenge.

She barely remembered how to drive as she erratically navigated her way through the streets, zooming through red lights and haphazardly swerving from lane to lane. Fear was clouding her mind, coating everything with a dense fog. She couldn't think straight.

When she got back to the hotel, she pulled out her phone and dialed Emily's number, staring unseeingly out the window at the brick wall in front of her. Her hand clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel and she stared at her wedding ring. She had never taken it off, despite the numerous questions that had been asked over the years. She suspected that was one of the factors that had contributed to her and Harold's poor date, but there was no time to lament over that now. She would be lucky if she survived to even lament over anything.

"Hello?" a slightly accented female voice answered. This must be the Garcias' babysitter, Naomi.

"May I speak to Mrs. Garcia, please?" Jeannie asked. She spotted movement in the rearview mirror and automatically cringed before realizing it was just another car pulling up in the lot. She exhaled slowly, trying to slow her racing heart.

After an eternity of silence on the other line, Emily answered. "He knows," Jeannie said right away. "I was stupid enough to reveal myself. He _knows_ , Em. It's all over."

Emily whispered something that sounded like, 'Oh, God.' "What do you want to do now?" she asked. "Go to the airport?"

"No," Jeannie answered. "There's not enough time for that. There's no use running anyway. I'll hide in the hotel room. There's no way he'll know I'm there."

Emily made to reply, but there was a crackle of noise in the background and Jeannie could hear Lily's voice saying, "Who are you talking to?"

"Let me talk to her," Jeannie pleaded.

After a short pause, Lily asked, "Mommy?"

"Oh, honey," Jeannie breathed. "I'm sorry, so sorry, but you'll have to stay at the Garcias' for a little while longer."

"But you _promised_ ," her daughter accused, her voice holding all the contempt of a five-year-old.

"I know, and I didn't think things would turn out this way—"

There was a clatter and Emily muttered, "She dropped the phone and ran away."

"It's all right," Jeannie whispered. "She has a temper. Like me…like _us_." As obvious as her similarity to her mother was, her relation to Jack could not be denied either.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," she said starkly. "Wait."

"For what?" Emily asked, but Jeannie had already hung up.

Moving as if in a daze, she got out of the car and went into the hotel, flinching whenever someone got too close to her. A young couple in the elevator kept glancing sideways at her. Jeannie wondered if her anxiety and distress was somehow radiating off her.

When she got to her room, she locked and bolted the door and pulled the drapes over the windows. After standing in the darkness for a minute, she switched on the television but immediately regretted her decision when she heard what the announcer was saying:

"… _After being incarcerated for less than twenty-four hours, the Joker has escaped Arkham Asylum…guards are at a loss as to how he did it…citizens are urged to stay inside and lock all doors…"_

"There's no point," Jeannie said out loud. "He's coming after me."

She sank down onto the bed, staring up at the chandelier on the ceiling, and let out a piercing scream.

* * *

The fear that she felt in the next hour was unparalleled. Jeannie tried desperately to think of possible scenarios that would not end up with her dead or somehow damaged, but she hadn't gotten very far. She was positive that the Joker would somehow find her, demand an explanation, and then kill her.

After an hour of pacing the room frantically, Jeannie's stomach finally got the better of her. She grabbed the room keys and went downstairs to get something to eat. There was a soda machine and a small café in the hotel lobby. She bought a drink and a sandwich before going back upstairs, glancing constantly over her shoulder as she did. _Don't be stupid,_ she told herself. _There's no way he knows where you're staying._

But she could sense something was wrong as soon as she arrived on her floor. There was a peculiar stillness about the hallway and the foreboding only got worse as Jeannie neared her room. She opened the door with a strong sense of trepidation, half-expecting someone to jump out at her.

That didn't happen, but she was met with something almost worse: the sound of footsteps.

Someone was in her room.

She turned to flee, but it was too late: a figure had emerged from the shadows.

The Joker was fully dressed in his trademark purple suit, and he had painstakingly reapplied his facepaint. Jeannie's eyes raked over his face in horror. There was no doubt now he _was_ Jack—but this Jack resembled Sweeney Todd more than anything else. His dark eyes held no trace of warmth or compassion.

Before she could move, she was flung backward against the wall as he leapt at her. Her head cracked painfully against the concrete. She blacked out for a split second, and when she came to, she was lying on the floor with the Joker pinning her to the ground. His face loomed above hers. "It's been a long time," he drawled. "We have a lot to, uh, _catch up_ on, wouldn't you agree?"

"H—how did you find me?" she croaked.

"Oh, it wasn't hard. The desk clerk just had to receive one little death threat, and he completely spilled top-secret information on every guest in this hotel." The Joker shook his head, a huge smile on his face. "Wonderful, isn't it?"

Jeannie could only make a squeaking sound that resembled a mouse. She couldn't move; she could only stare up into those cold eyes and wonder where Jack had gone. How could he have changed so completely?

Or perhaps not so completely.

"He lied," Jeannie whispered, determined to speak as fast as she could so he would get off of her. "He told me you—you were dead so I would leave Gotham and—"

" _Who_?" he snarled, increasing the pressure on her throat. Jeannie choked and tried to shake her head, but the Joker's hand only tightened on her.

"O—Oliver," she gasped. All of a sudden, the Joker leapt off her and she stayed crouched on the floor, winded and tears seeping out of the corner of her eyes.

"So you, uh, _believed_ him. Just like that," the Joker hissed, baring his yellow teeth.

Terrified, Jeannie nodded. "He was my…best friend—"

"Obviously he wasn't or he wouldn't have done that," he said. While Jeannie watched him, petrified, he leered at her and laughed while she flinched. "Scared of me… _tiger_?" he asked.

"It's hard—not to be scared of you," she whispered, heart pounding at the nickname. But it was no longer an endearment—he pronounced the word like it was filthy. Yes, he remembered her.

His gloved hand roughly grabbed her chin and pulled it up to face him. When she tried to look away he grabbed her face with his other hand and jerked it back. "Are you… _ashamed_ of me?" There was an undercurrent of a threat in the words.

"I…I'm not married to you," she managed to say. "I was married to…to Jack Napier."

The Joker threw his head back and laughed coldly. "I'm _not_?" he mocked her. "I'm _not_ your husband? I could tell you things that would make you _cry_."

Jeannie was still scared, but anger instead of fear was beginning to take over. Why had she come back for this imposter? "You're not even going to ask about our daughter?"

He paused, stopped in his tracks. Dark brown eyes narrowed and the leather of his gloves dug into Jeannie's skin. "Daughter?"

"Her name is Lily. Lily Napier," Jeannie said defiantly. "She's five years old. I was pregnant…or don't you remember?"

His hand twitched and she expected him to slap her, but he simply laughed. "Where is this… _daughter_ of mine?" the Joker asked, as if he still didn't believe in her existence.

"As if I'll tell you," she spat at him. "She doesn't need to know her father is…"

"What, exactly?" the Joker said. "What am I, _Jeannie_?"

"A monster. You're a monster."

He chuckled, unimpressed. "Is that all you've got? Nothing more, uh, _creative_?"

"There's no need to be creative when that's a perfect word to describe you," she muttered.

"Now _there's_ the Jeannie I remember," he smirked. She struggled to move away, but he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer.

All of a sudden his mouth was on hers, hard and unforgiving. She could feel his body pressing into hers, and with a sudden sickening terror she realized how familiar this felt, as if Jack was back home kissing her at the door.

The Joker growled, low in his throat, and shoved her in the direction of the bed. Jeannie tried to resist, but there was no way she could win. He was trying to make her submit to him in the crudest way.

She wouldn't—couldn't—let him get to her. She couldn't just let him get away with this. As sickening as it was, she had to make him believe she was _enjoying_ it.

With a mixture of disgust and sick curiosity, Jeannie grabbed a chunk of his hair and yanked his face back down to hers. Their noses smashed together before their mouths did, but he only giggled. She pried open his mouth with her tongue, determined to be aggressive.

"Changed your mind?" he asked, gripping her shoulders so tightly she could already feel bruises forming.

He was trying to assert his dominance, but Jeannie wasn't having any of it. She couldn't let him win, even if it killed her.

She refused to believe that she actually _wanted_ to do it…even if a miniscule part of her needed to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Jack she knew was gone.

* * *

"Why is everyone so scared?" Lily asked Emily after dinner that night. She was quieter now, curled up on the couch and looking unusually serious.

Emily gazed down at the little girl, unsure what to say. "A…dangerous man broke out of jail and no one is sure where he is," she said. "Don't worry, you're safe here."

"So why did Mommy leave?"

"She had to go find someone." Emily paused. "How much do you know about your father?"

"His name was Jack and I have his eyes," Lily recited proudly.

"Have you ever seen a picture of him?"

She nodded. "Grandma showed me one picture of his and Mommy's wedding. His scars are scary! Mommy told me it's because he got hurt when he was little."

Emily knelt down and rifled through the drawers in the cabinet until she pulled out an old photo album. Lily watched curiously as she flipped the pages until she stopped at the very last one. It had been taken the summer after eighth grade, when Jeannie had come back from visiting Chicago and Harriet had just found out she was pregnant. Emily had felt uneasy around Jack, even then, but she'd tried her best to shrug it off. She'd snapped the picture during a rare quiet moment.

Jack was leaning against a tree trunk, glaring irritably at the camera. Jeannie was perched on the same tree branch, but instead of looking annoyed she was laughing at his expression. Emily felt a pang of sadness as she gazed at the worn photo.

Lily gasped and held the frame with her small fingers. "Daddy looks mad," she said uncertainly.

"He was just surprised," Emily said. "Here, do you want to see more pictures?"

Her goddaughter nodded eagerly and climbed onto Emily's lap. But her mind was far from the pictures—it was on Lily's parents, wherever they were.

* * *

Jeannie didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until she was woken the next morning by a bird loudly chirping outside the window. She came to slowly, groaning and rubbing her eyes. Her entire body felt like it had been hit by a truck, followed by multiple steamrollers. She stretched out her arm and winced at the bruises that adorned it.

Of course, she was alone. The Joker had presumably left after she'd gone to sleep. In fact, Jeannie was most surprised by the fact she was still _alive_.

She had no excuses for the previous night. It had been poor judgment on her part and she was ashamed that she'd let him control her like that. There had been no love in the act—just him asserting his power over her. She'd tried to fight him, and lost. She always would.

Was Jack still in there, somewhere deep down? Perhaps, but she hadn't seen any evidence of it yet. The Joker was complete chaos, a force unto himself. Jeannie was beyond ashamed of herself for letting him take over her so easily.

But, most dangerously, she felt _hollow_ —as if he had taken some crucial part of her away. He had ruined her. He had ruined her the very first day she'd spoken to him, and she had fallen.

When she forced her aching legs out of bed, searching for traps or hidden knives he had left behind, she found a joker card with a note tucked on the door handle. She opened it up. In scrawled, messy letters, it read:

_Do not lEave or else your 'friends' Are in for a nasTy surprise Ha ha ha._

_-J_

Jeannie ripped the paper from the door and sank to the ground, digging her fingernails into her skull. What had she done?


	7. October 2007: Defeat

Eventually Jeannie managed to pick herself up and take a shower, watching the brown dye wash out of her hair and swirl down the drain. She wrenched out her contacts and threw them at the opposite wall so hard they splintered into thousands of tiny pieces. There was no point in wearing them anymore, not when the Joker knew who she was.

As expected, she had several bleeding cuts and her body looked like one enormous bruise, but she forced herself to move. She couldn't let him win. Not now.

There was a knock at her door when she came out of the bathroom and Jeannie jumped, but when she looked through the peephole she saw two familiar faces. She opened the door delightedly, giving Lily a tight hug. "What are you doing back here?" she asked Emily.

"I've got you booked on a flight to Seattle," said Emily. "You need to get as far away from here as possible."

Jeannie could have hugged her. "That's exactly what I need," she said. "Thank you." Yes, she was daring enough to defy his note. If she left imminently, she just might be able to escape.

While Lily ran past them to explore the room, Emily asked in a low voice, "What happened?"

Jeannie sucked in a sharp breath. "He…let's just say he knows where I am."

"Then we'll get you out of here right away," her friend replied, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Anthony's got the entire police force and the SWAT team looking for him. The president even agreed to send in some of his men."

She could only nod. "Em, he came up here and I—we—"

Emily correctly guessed the missing words, and tried to hide her disgust. "He raped you," she whispered.

"No," Jeannie mumbled. "I went along with it."

" _Why_?"

"I—he was trying to prove that he had control over me. He wanted me to struggle and scream. But I refused to do that. And…part of me wanted to see if…Jack was still somewhere inside there."

"And was he?"

"It's…it's Jack, physically, but it's like—he was never that rough with me. The Joker wouldn't even let me _move_. It's not as if we were…kissing, or anything—only at first. But he was just doing that to cover my mouth so I couldn't scream. After, he, he—kept my mouth shut so I couldn't make a noise."

"So he raped you," Emily said matter-of-factly. Before Jeannie could muster up a lame protest, she grabbed her arm and said loudly, "Come on, Lily."

"Where are we going _now_?" she whined.

"Another trip," Emily said. Jeannie went over to her and took her hand, leading her out of the room. Lily, seemingly over her momentary annoyance at her mother, was glad for the familiar comfort and stayed close to her as they left the room and went down to the lobby.

The Garcias' driver was waiting outside and the three of them climbed into the car. Jeannie tried hard not to think about the cryptic note the Joker had left; he was probably relying on her being too scared to leave the hotel. He was wrong.

"Emily," she said quietly when they arrived at the airport, "You and Anthony take care, all right?" She hesitated, biting her lip, and then quickly explained about the note.

Surprisingly, Emily didn't look concerned. "I thought he'd do something like that," she replied. "Don't worry about us, Jeannie. Take care of yourself and Lily."

Smiling, Jeannie gave her a parting hug, unable to express in words the gratitude she felt, and went into the terminal with Lily.

True to her word, Emily had booked them a flight to Seattle in first class. Jeannie played with her phone while waiting for their flight to be called. Lily had fallen asleep in her lap, clutching Thumper closely.

She was just staring at the departures board when her phone buzzed. Not wanting to wake Lily up, Jeannie answered, "Hello?" as quietly as she could.

"I, ah, thought I left a no _te_ ," answered a sinister, menacing voice. "When will you ever _learn?"_

Jeannie froze. How could he have known she left? Before she could stutter out a response, she heard a muffled scream in the background.

"Emily," she whispered in horror.

"Yes, I have your _friends_ tied up here," the Joker answered. "I have to give them credit. They weren't easy to catch."

"Where are you?" Jeannie demanded. Lily began to stir and glanced up with worried eyes.

"I think you should be able to guess," he replied. "It holds many… _happy_ memories." Laughter colored his tone.

_Our old apartment._

"So," the Joker continued, in a light, conversational tone, "You have two choices. One, you go on your merry way and leave your _friends_ to whatever fate awaits them here." There was a strangled yell of "JEANNIE! GO!" from Emily before she heard the Joker snarl something unintelligible. "Two, you come back here and I might consider letting them go. I, uh, believe that the mayor has _better_ things to do with his time. Oh, and bring our daughter. It'll be a family _reunion_." There was an ominous click as he hung up.

Shaking madly, Jeannie debated her options. She knew he would just come after her and Lily once he'd killed the Garcias. It was a lose-lose situation. She couldn't leave.

As calmly as she could, she set Lily back on the ground and walked to the door on trembling legs. "Where are we going, Mommy?" Lily asked excitedly as Jeannie led her out of the terminal and into the parking lot.

"It's a surprise," Jeannie answered weakly. Her mind was racing; she had to think of an escape plan, and fast. But there was nothing she could do.

Her daughter tugged on her hand impatiently. "Is it a _fun_ surprise?" she inquired, all bright eyes and wide smiles.

The innocence in her face nearly broke Jeannie's heart. "I don't think so, honey." Before Lily could question her any further, a taxi screeched to a stop in front of them. "The Narrows, please," she called to the driver as she helped Lily climb in.

Luckily, he didn't ask any questions and they were soon off, the concrete jungle of Gotham flying past the car. Jeannie stared out the window feeling sick—would this be the last time she would ever see it?

Meanwhile, Lily was still chatting away in the backseat. "What's the Narrows?" she kept asking. "Is it a hotel?"

"A neighborhood," Jeannie replied, her mind only half on the conversation. She was too busy trying to fight the tears that threatened to escape from her eyes.

When the taxi drove past the gate, Jeannie whispered the address to him and gripped the edge of the seat so as to stop shaking. Familiar scenery and buildings flashed by; the area hadn't changed much in five years. There was the park she'd often walked Roscoe…the docks where she and Jack used to walk hand in hand…

The thought of _Jack_ sliced through her heart like a knife, and she crumpled. Blurred memories of the night before surfaced in her mind, and the unbidden tears spilled over. Jeannie averted her eyes and wiped her cheeks furiously. Damn it…she _had_ to be strong…now more than ever.

It was both too soon and yet, not soon enough when the taxi halted in front of the building. It looked like it had been rebuilt brick by brick. Jack was in there, Jack with Emily and Anthony and their sons…

She stuffed two twenty-dollar bills in the driver's hand and got out of the car, the cold gusts of wind blowing off the ocean freezing the tears on her cheeks. Jeannie grabbed Lily and held her close as she bravely walked up the front path to the doors, the warmth of her daughter's body the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

"Mommy, why are we here?" Lily whispered, hanging on tightly to Jeannie. She seemed to sense that it was not the time for talking loudly.

 _Tell her the truth_ , a voice sounded in Jeannie's ear. _Or at least…part of it._ "This is where your daddy and I used to live," she murmured. "They rebuilt the entire building after the fire."

Lily's eyes went wide. "It _was?_ " she said, awed. "You and Daddy lived _here_?"

"Shhh, yes," Jeannie answered. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the building, her footfalls ringing. The light was muted and the air was humid despite the cool temperature outside. No sound could be heard from any of the apartments.

 _Room 100_ , _Room 100, Room 100…_ the words haunted her. Jeannie walked toward the apartment at the very end of the hallway, keeping her eyes fixed on the gold-plated lettering. Did the Joker already know they were here? Was she essentially killing both herself and Lily?

Spots danced in front of her vision as every second ticked by. It felt like it had been at least an hour since they'd been in the taxi, when in reality it hadn't even been five minutes. Jeannie raised her fist to knock on the door, but before she did, she murmured, "Honey…I want you to know that no matter what happens today, I'll always love you."

Lily smiled. "I'll always love you too, Mommy."

Jeannie adjusted her grip on her daughter before bringing her fist down and pounding on the door three times. This was it. There was no going back.

Just as the third knock sounded, the door swung open. Lily gasped and buried her face in Jeannie's shoulder, shy for once. For her part, Jeannie jumped as well. The Joker was standing there, still in his suit, wearing a coat of freshly applied facepaint.

For a moment, he coldly examined Jeannie and the young girl in her arms. Cautiously, Lily poked her head out from behind Jeannie's curtain of hair. Two pairs of identical eyes met, and the Joker's mouth twisted in consideration. There was no denying those eyes. They were his eyes—Diana Grant's eyes.

Jeannie knew he was also taking in her long limbs and fluidity of movement. "Well, well, well," he said after a short silence. "You look more like your _mother_."

"Who are you?" Lily asked as bravely as she could.

The Joker laughed so hard that Lily squeaked and pressed even closer to Jeannie. "You mean she hasn't told you?" he asked. "You are my.."—he pronounced the word with derisive amusement—" _daughter_."


	8. October 2007: Destruction

Jeannie had been dreading this moment since she'd first learned that her husband was still alive—if not emotionally, then at least physically. Sooner or later, Lily would have to learn who her father really was and the circumstances under which she had been conceived. Jeannie would have to tell her that Jack had wanted her to get an abortion and he hadn't wanted children at all. She would have to know that her father, the man whom she shared half of her genes with, was a psychotic mass murderer.

The news would have been devastating to any child, but it was sure to hit Lily especially hard, since she was still barely out of toddlerhood and had been sheltered and adored all her life. The rose-colored glasses hadn't left Jeannie until she was in her mid-teens—but Lily would have them ripped off a decade before most people did. There was no bluffing now, no making up stories.

"You can't be my daddy," Lily snuffled, hiding her face behind Thumper. "He's in heaven."

The Joker laughed. "I am, ah, _certain_ that the last place I will ever see is heaven. Now get in," he ordered, glaring at Jeannie. She couldn't stare at his eyes for too long; she had to averted her gaze. As she numbly passed him, he reached out and twisted her face toward him. "Look at me!" he snarled. "I didn't bring you here to have you turn away like that."

She flinched away from him all the same. He gave her a glare that promised a later punishment before pushing past them inside.

The layout of the apartment was the same as she remembered it—a small main room, a bedroom and a tiny bathroom. But there was no furniture at all. Jeannie wondered if he had killed every single person in the apartment building, or if the other residents were all cowering in their rooms, terrified to move. There was certainly no one in _this_ apartment.

"Mommy, make him go away," Lily cried. "Why is he saying that he's Daddy?"

"Because he is," Jeannie admitted. "He's not really dead. That's why I came back to Gotham, to find him."

Lily gasped, her wide brown eyes registering astonishment. "But…" she turned back to the Joker, who was watching with amusement. "The scars!" she exclaimed.

"You wanna know how I got 'em?" he asked, taking a step toward them. Lily tried to shield herself with Thumper again, but with a twist of the Joker's glove the stuffed animal was splayed on the ground. She began to cry, but he shushed her, sounding almost gentle. "When I was your age, one of my close _friends_ got stuck in a tree when we were playing a game. She had climbed up and couldn't get down! So I rescued her. But, as soon as she got home, she told her parents that I had chased her up there. She didn't want to get in trouble, see. So, the next day I went over to her house, and her father cornered me. He said that I would regret what I did to his daughter. He took two knives and put the blades in my mouth…then he tied me up to the tree…and…" With a flash of purple, he had grabbed his knife and was holding it to Lily's face. She screamed.

That had been the one thing Jeannie had never known: how he'd gotten his scars. She knew they'd been carved when he was young, but he had never told her the exact story. She doubted he was telling the truth now. _"Jack!"_ she yelled without thinking. The Joker had her pinned up against the wall in a heartbeat, his eyes burning. "Say that one more time," he hissed. "I _dare_ you."

Automatically, she shook her head. The Joker, reading the fear in her eyes, looked satisfied and dropped his knife. He reached out and, to Jeannie's horror, snatched Lily from her. The little girl cried and tried to hold on, but the Joker easily untangled her from Jeannie and balanced her on one arm, keeping a tight grip on his blade with the other. Jeannie stared in shock as he walked further into the apartment. She glanced toward the door—she could make a run for it—but…

The Joker looked back at her and smirked at her torn expression. "You can run if you want, _tiger_ ," he taunted. "But I've got the kid…and I _will_ find you." His voice slid an octave deeper during the last sentence until it was almost a growl.

Jeannie met Lily's frightened eyes over his shoulder, hating herself for even considering the idea. She followed the Joker into the bedroom, where she saw the four Garcias tied and bound to the wall. They were all gagged and the two-year-old, Tyler, looked as if he had fainted.

The Joker looked gleeful. "You're lucky they showed up," he said to Emily. "You should thank your friend for, uh, saving your worthless skin, at least for another ten minutes."

Anthony's eyes were bulging under his gag as he struggled to talk. Tears were streaming down Emily's face. Lily tried to hide her eyes from the sight, but the Joker twisted her head around. "No closing your eyes, _sweetheart_ ," he drawled. "That's cheating. And, uh, I don't like cheaters."

"Daddy, I—" she cried, but the Joker snarled and covered her mouth with his free hand.

"Do _not_ ," he said, his voice a raspy hiss, "Call me… _Daddy_." He spit the last word out.

Lily gulped, rubbing her eyes. "Then what am I supposed to call you?"

The Joker's lip curled. "Think about this for a minute. What have you heard everyone else call me?"

"J—Joker," she whispered, struggling to form her tongue around the foreign syllables.

"Good," he mock-praised, although Jeannie was sure Lily didn't pick up on the sarcasm. " _That's_ better."

A whimper issued from another corner of the room, and with a sickening jolt Jeannie's gaze landed on a chained dog. "Roscoe," she whispered. The Rottweiler barked loudly, trying to break free, but when nobody answered his calls he quieted.

"Now," the Joker said, abruptly letting go of Lily as if she was merely an object. She tumbled to the ground and Roscoe trotted over, licking her face comfortingly. "Let's see how intelligent you are—although I think I will be sorely disappointed by the result." He reached into his pocket and pulled out another knife. Jeannie leapt forward, but it was too late: he'd already handed it to Lily. She looked astonished at holding such a dangerous object that Jeannie had forbidden her from touching.

The Joker bent down so he was face-to-face with Lily. "I want you," he began in a soft voice, "To, uh, stab the dog with this knife, and I'll have a special _treat_ for you."

"NO!" Jeannie screamed at the same time there was an outbreak of struggling from the Garcias. She lunged at the Joker. He was immediately on his feet, one gloved hand covering her mouth as he pulled her away. "Think of this as an _experiment_ ," he murmured in her ear, his voice so unlike Jack's it was difficult for Jeannie to believe they were the same person.

Lily dropped the blade. "I'm not allowed to touch knives!" she protested.

"Well, I'm giving you per- _miss_ -ion," the Joker said, his voice still low and soothing. "Do you want your mother safe?" When she nodded, he continued, "Then you'll do as I say. Oh—and I want it to be as _clean_ as possible."

"I can't!" cried Lily. With one hand still clamped tightly over Jeannie's mouth, the Joker bent down and picked up the knife.

"Oh, that's too bad," he said. "Your mother might wish you could." He took the knife and held it against Jeannie's throat. As soon as she felt the cold tip of the blade against her skin, she let her last remaining hope disappear. She was going to die tonight, and she knew she wouldn't be the only one.

Lily's eyes widened. "No! I'll do it!" she cried. "Just don't hurt Mommy."

The Joker laughed gleefully, his sides shaking. "Sure, kid," he said, and removed the blade from Jeannie's throat, handing it over to Lily. She turned and looked at Roscoe, but Jeannie could tell there was no way she could do it.

The Joker's hand had momentarily left her mouth as he handed the knife over, and Jeannie seized her chance, yelling, "I'll do it!"

He stopped, but his eyes were sparkling. "You want to do it?" he asked. " _Love_?"

Jeannie shuddered. "Don't call me that."

"Funny, you never minded me saying that _before_ ," the Joker replied. "Especially when we were—"

"Give me the knife, Lily," Jeannie interrupted, her cheeks burning. "Please."

Lily was all too happy to hand it over, and Jeannie wrapped her fingers around the handle, staring into Roscoe's large, trusting eyes. Roscoe…the last tie that represented her past with Jack.

Suddenly, she realized what the Joker was trying to do. He was trying to break Lily by forcing her to kill Roscoe, and he was trying to break Jeannie by severing the last remaining tie that reminded her of Jack.

Jeannie knelt down beside Roscoe and held the knife to his fur, feeling his heart beating fast under her fingers. He whined and tried to jerk away, as if he sensed something was going to happen.

She slowly raised the knife and, holding the struggling dog by the collar, took a deep breath before plunging it down.

There was a shriek from Lily, a howl from Roscoe, and a surprised grunt from the Joker as he stumbled backwards, blood rapidly staining the side of his knee. Jeannie had turned the knife at the last second and stabbed him in the leg.

She was suddenly yanked up by her collar and spun around. She quickly took in the scene: Anthony had freed himself from his bondages and was standing up, gun pointed directly at the Joker, who was holding Jeannie in front of him. The knife was clasped in the Joker's other hand, dripping blood onto the floor. He seemed to be unfazed by the gaping wound just above his knee. His other arm was keeping Lily still.

"I'm afraid you'll have to try harder!" he jeered. "But…I did underestimate you. I'd forgotten how… _defiant_ you could be. Someone in this room," he continued, slightly breathless, "is going to kill this dog."

No one moved. Lily was crying and shaking, her entire body wracking with sobs.

"The only one who will be killed tonight is you," Anthony roared. But the Joker only laughed.

"How will you do it without a gun?" he asked mockingly. "How will you stop your wife and children from dying? And how do you know this entire building isn't rigged up to a set of explosives that will go off if I press _this_?" He gestured to a button just behind his head. Anthony froze.

He turned back to Emily, and after a pause she gave a slight nod of her head. Anthony regarded her and his sons for another moment before slowly turning back to the Joker. "Give me a knife," he said.

"Oh, no, no, no," the Joker replied, clucking his tongue. "You lost your chance. You'll have to do it the, ah, _old-fashioned_ way."

Anthony looked at Roscoe and then back at them. His hands were trembling.

"You're making this too complicated," the Joker complained. "A twist of the neck should do it. And, _Anthony_ …" he released his grip on Lily so he could grab a gun off the table, cock it, and point it at the mayor, "You have ten seconds."

"Don't watch, Lily," Jeannie whispered. Her daughter obediently covered her eyes.

"Come now," the Joker said disapprovingly. "Give our _daughter_ a good view. Don't you want the _best_ for her?"

"You can't do this, Joker," Anthony yelled. "I sent out a distress signal and the police are coming here—"

"Looks like your ten seconds are up," the Joker interjected lazily. Before Jeannie could shout a warning, he'd pulled the trigger. The ensuing shot echoed around the room and Jeannie's ears began to ring painfully. Anthony fell to the floor, lifeless.

"NO!" Emily screamed. She had spat out her gag and was writhing uncontrollably, almost frothing at the mouth.

"I don't see what you're so upset about," the Joker said unemotionally. "He was nothing special."

"You _bastard_ ," she hissed. "I will hunt you down and kill you myself."

"I'm right here," the Joker sneered. "Give it your best try."

"Emily, don't!" Jeannie cried, but the other woman didn't even react.

"You just couldn't stay away from me, could you?" the Joker asked, and Emily stopped struggling momentarily in confusion. He wasn't looking at them, but at the window over Emily's head. "I'm afraid you arrived a bit too _late_."

There was a sudden burst of breaking glass and a huge black shape crashed into the room, landing on its feet. Jeannie stared in awe at the tall figure covered head-to-toe in armor, his cape fluttering behind him. Batman's eyes were narrowed into slits and he was glaring at the Joker with pure, unadulterated hatred. "Let them go," he growled, his voice a deep rumble.

"Do we _really_ want a scene like last time?" the Joker asked lightly. Batman gave a yell of rage and started toward them, his hands balled into fists.

"Out in the daytime, I see," he continued. "I must say, you're a lot less intimidating now!"

Batman moved so fast Jeannie didn't even have time to duck. He landed a clean punch on the side of the Joker's head. His grip slackened and Jeannie staggered forward, grabbing on to Lily so she could shield her.

Batman grabbed the Joker by the collar and heaved him up, slamming him against the wall. The Joker laughed with delight as he sank to the ground.

The door to the bedroom was suddenly blasted off its hinges and a dozen police officers rushed into the room. There was a barrage of shots when they spotted the Joker, but he managed to avoid Batman's next punch and jump out of the way. Jeannie heard a pained yelp as one of the stray bullets hit Roscoe and the dog fell to the floor beside Anthony.

One of the police officers untied Emily and she lunged at him, eyes wild as she grabbed his gun. "Let—me—at—him!" she screeched. The officer tried to stop her, but she pried the gun out of his grip and immediately pulled the trigger. Jeannie shut her eyes as the third gunshot went off, and when she opened them again, her best friend was lying dead on the floor next to Anthony and Roscoe.

Lily, Evan, and Tyler were screaming hysterically, Batman was roaring in fury as he pummeled the Joker into a bloody pulp, the Joker himself was howling with laughter, and the police officers were barking orders at each other. Jeannie could hear her own ragged breathing as her eyes raked over the horrific scene in front of her.

But she didn't have time to examine it for very long—there was a jarring, ear-splitting boom and the wall in front of them exploded. Jeannie yelled and instinctively ducked, pushing Lily farther behind her. The room turned into a blur as she covered her eyes, hearing the loud crackling of flames and splintering wood. The noise grew into an unbearable cacophony and she felt something roughly pull her away—then her senses were no more.


	9. October 2007: Trapped

Jeannie awoke on a hard surface, her neck sore and still shivering. She opened her eyes to a small, windowless, bleak room. The only piece of furniture in sight was the hard mattress she was lying on. Slowly, she sat up and brushed her hair back, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

How had she gotten here? She was sure the explosion would have killed her. Could she be in some sort of purgatory? That might be a possible explanation, if not for the fact that she couldn't think of anything she had done that would make the so-called God question the morality of her soul. Then again, she supposed what she had done with the Joker the previous night would constitute as sin, whether it was forced or not, even if he _was_ once her husband. But most importantly, where was Lily?

She shakily got to her feet and tried to open the door, but it was firmly locked. Jeannie tried the doorknob again, giving it a sharp yank when nothing happened, but it still wouldn't budge. Beginning to panic, she banged her fist on the wood and yelled " _Help!"_

There was no answer. Not a sound issued from outside. She had no idea where she was or even in what kind of building she was. "Lily!" she cried. After a short pause, she screamed, "Jack!" knowing that was sure to bring him.

But no one came, and Jeannie continued to shout, banging on the door until her voice grew hoarse. She finally slumped down on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. She had killed Emily and Anthony. It was all her fault. Emily, who had been supporting her for years…she didn't deserve to die. _Jeannie_ was the one who deserved to die after all she'd done.

Just as she was beginning to think she was left alone to starve (she had certainly earned that fate), she heard keys rattling in the door. Batting the tears away from her face, she crawled over to the opposite wall, bracing herself for a fight.

She wasn't surprised in the least when the Joker strode in, doubling over with laughter when he saw her. "I, ah, think I deserve a _thank-you_ ," were his first words, shutting the door behind him with an ominous click. Jeannie felt as if her last hope had disappeared with that sound.

"For what?" she asked, trying to sound as brave as she could. She wouldn't go down without a fight—not now, when she had known him for so long and had witnessed him at his most vulnerable.

He stood in front of her and ran his tongue across the lips, looking down at her with those black eyes. "For not letting you die there. You're not immune to explosions, ya know."

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" she demanded, hating the way he towered over her.

The Joker grinned, exposing his yellow but oddly straight teeth. "I'm not finishedwith you, or, uh, _Lily_ yet. Why else would I have gone to all that _trouble_ of luring you back to that apartment? It would have been _much_ easier to let you die in that hotel room, wouldn't you agree?"

Jeannie flinched at the memory, but her mind was stuck on his first sentence. "Lily is still alive? Where is she? Where am _I_?"

"One question at a time!" he instructed her, sounding like a teacher scolding a misbehaving child. "How about we make a _deal,_ hmmm? I'll let you see the kid if you tell me something in return."

"What?" she whispered, ready to spill everything if it meant she could see Lily.

The Joker seized her arm and pulled her up so they were face-to-face. She automatically recoiled at first, but he harshly jerked her back to him and she could feel a sharp object press onto her neck. "Where is Edward Nashton?"

Jeannie was so shocked by his words it took her a while to process the question. Heart hammering, she replied, "I saw him at Arkham—they have him totally drugged up and he acts almost normal. He told me that you were a…a loose cannon and that your strategies don't turn out because you rely too much on chaos."

The Joker made a satisfied noise and abruptly let go of her. Jeannie stumbled back, clutching her throat. "So _that's_ what he meant," he muttered to himself before turning to look at her again. "Now, I'm a generous guy, so I'll keep my side of the bargain."

"You're a man of your word," Jeannie muttered. She expected him to snarl at her, but he only laughed in response.

* * *

Like Jeannie, Lily had woken up in a whitewashed, cell-like room, the only difference being she had no mattress. Remembering what had happened to her hours before, she began to cry. "Mommy!" she shrieked, but Jeannie didn't appear. Nonetheless, she continued screaming until she was blue in the face and had no more energy left to make another sound. Coughing pathetically, she wrapped her arms protectively around herself. She was hungry, scared, and wanted Thumper.

When she heard the door handle rattle, she screamed and ran into the corner, where she wrapped her arms around herself, trying unsuccessfully to hide. When the Joker came into the room she began to cry even harder.

"Ah, what's the _matter_?" he asked, sauntering over to her and kneeling down so they were on eye level.

Lily shook her head furiously. "Go away!" she ordered.

She was lucky the Joker was in a good mood. He laughed, spreading out his hands to show her nothing was concealed in them. "I don't have a knife, _sweetheart_ ," he drawled. "See?"

"It's in your pocket," Lily mumbled, but at least she dared to glance up at him.

"Ah, you're smarter than I thought," the Joker praised. "Now hurry up. Your mother is waitin _g_."

"Mommy is here?" she asked, her face instantly lighting up.

"Mm- _hm_ ," he replied, reaching out his arms and easily lifting her up. He felt a wave of disgust at having the kid so close to him—but she wouldn't move otherwise, and she _was_ his spawn, after all. Some of his genes had to have been passed on, although it certainly seemed as if Jeannie's side had won that particular genetic draw.

Lily squirmed in protest, but the Joker kept a tight grip on her as he stood up and left the room. She gripped onto his shoulders for support and gave a little gasp as he began to walk down a set of stairs, wrapping her legs around his abdomen so she wouldn't fall down.

The Joker sighed. "What is it, kid?" He wasn't in the mood to start a conversation with a five-year-old, as hilarious as the things he could tell her would be.

"You're taller than Mommy," she said hesitantly. "And you dropped me before."

The Joker rolled his eyes. "What would be the _fun_ in dropping you now?"

She was silent and he smirked in response. Sure, she was Jeannie reincarnated, but he could see himself in her eyes; the way they narrowed at the corners when she was upset. Her fiery temper could also have easily come from him. He still wished that she was a boy, if she _had_ to exist at all, but if he waited a couple of years she could easily be useful to him. She definitely had some semblance of intelligence, and once she grew out of that annoying whine he was sure she would be as mocking and derisive as he was. The Joker was almost… _curiou_ s to know what she would be like when she was older.

But that didn't mean he had to like her _now_. He was uncomfortable that she was so close, clutching onto him like her life depended on it. Not ten minutes ago, she had been screaming when she'd first seen him. Children were so _inconsistent_. He had always hated them. In fact, part of him was wondering why he didn't just slice her up then and there to get it over with. There were a few _magic tricks_ he would be delighted to try on her.

* * *

Jeannie was pacing her room in agitation when the door swung open again and the Joker re-entered, Lily clinging onto him. She leapt from his arms and instantly ran to Jeannie, sniffling again as her mother embraced her. "Thank God you're all right," she whispered.

Wearing a bored expression, the Joker turned to leave, but Jeannie called out, "At least tell me what happened to everyone else in the apartment!"

"Let's just say, uh, only us and Batman made it out alive," he answered, erupting with laughter as he turned and left the room. A wave of dread washed over Jeannie and she could only hope that she would find some way to escape before whatever use they were to the Joker had run out.


	10. October 2007: Hopelessness

Even after the Joker had long disappeared, Jeannie could still feel his unnerving presence tainting the air. Lily was quietly sitting in her lap; seemingly thinking hard about something. "How could you love him?" she finally whispered, glancing nervously toward the door as if afraid he was still listening.

Jeannie thought carefully before answering. "…He's gone through a few changes. He wasn't always like this." _Although sometimes he was close._

Lily considered that before remarking, "I'm scared of him."

"Everyone is," Jeannie muttered. "Don't worry, honey, you're safe for now." Of course, she couldn't guarantee that, but she didn't want to scare Lily any more than she already was.

The Joker had left the door open, and after they had both calmed down Lily clambered off Jeannie's lap and peered outside. "Can we go out there?" she asked.

On one hand, Jeannie knew the Joker wouldn't be happy if he found them snooping around. But on the other, he wouldn't have left the door open if he wanted them confined. Glancing around her current room, she decided that she couldn't bear to look at the cell-like walls any longer. Standing up, Jeannie tightly grabbed Lily's hand and cautiously led the way out of the room.

They were standing in the middle of another, larger area. There was no furniture in this room either and the only light weakly shone in through a boarded-up window in the far corner. Lily let go of Jeannie's hand and eagerly began to explore her new surroundings. "Careful!" Jeannie called, worried there might be loose nails or needles on the floor.

There was a rickety set of stairs opposite her. Jeannie climbed up them and found herself in another tiny, windowless room. This must be where the Joker had brought Lily. She descended back down the stairs, surveying the scene in front of her. The only other door in sight led to the room they had just come out of, leaving Jeannie momentarily confused. Where was the exit? But after a minute of searching, her eyes landed on a space between several missing floorboards and she tentatively knelt down in front of it, spotting a ladder pushed against the wall. Lily bounded over and Jeannie slowly made her way down rung by rung, reaching out her arms when she reached the bottom so Lily could jump into them.

Placing her daughter back on the ground, Jeannie examined the new floor. It appeared to be exactly the same as the one above it—they were in a musty, abandoned warehouse. There was a front door, but it was boarded up in a similar fashion as the window upstairs was. She wondered how the Joker entered and left.

It wasn't, Jeannie thought, as if he had purposely dragged them into an abandoned warehouse to keep them isolated from the world. It was as if this happened to be the only place available, and he really couldn't care less where they were kept.

"Why does he wear makeup?" Lily asked, sneezing as a puff of dust blew into her face.

Jeannie watched her warily, afraid she was going to somehow injure herself. "It's not makeup, it's paint."

"Same thing!" the little girl protested, and proceeded to fire off another round of questions. "Where's Thumper? Where did Daddy go? How long are we staying here?"

"I don't know," was all Jeannie could say. But that didn't deter Lily.

"Where are Roscoe and Emily?"

"Heaven."

"Really? They're not going to come back like Daddy did?"

"… _Daddy_ was never in heaven."

"Then maybe they aren't either!"

Jeannie let out a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. Lily walked back to her, pouting. "I'm hungry," she complained.

She didn't know how to respond to that. It was impossible to escape the building, and there was no food in sight. She prayed that the Joker would come back, and that there weren't hidden cameras where he would watch them starve to death whilst laughing hysterically. "I'll find you something," Jeannie promised, although, short of eating the walls, she had no idea.

* * *

Paolo stood anxiously in the middle of a group of men, wanting to bolt out of the room. But he had no choice—this was his only chance to get some extra money. It had been seven years since he'd worked at the bar—he'd gone through many jobs since then after falling in love during a trip to Italy. His lover had become pregnant and then promptly left him for another man—Paolo came back to Gotham brokenhearted and had been living in poverty since, not even knowing the gender of his child. He was desperately trying to make enough money to return to Italy and find his ex-girlfriend. Since he knew someone who had connections in the mob, he was able to persuade them to disclose the address where the Joker's henchmen supposedly spent most of their time.

The last thing Paolo wanted to do was work for the most infamous criminal in the world, but he was trapped and couldn't back out of it now. Apparently, in order to become a "trusted" member of the Joker's gang, one first had to pass a "test", and word had it that all of his henchmen ended up dying in the end. So Paolo had shown up at a dingy nightclub in the heart of the Narrows and led underground to a chamber where at least twenty other men stood waiting, some muttering to themselves and others who looked like they had just broken out of a maximum-security prison. Swallowing nervously, Paolo turned back to the front and put on his best poker face. It wouldn't do to have the Joker realize he was terrified out of his wits. The man could probably smell fear…if he was even human.

"When is he supposed to show up?" the person on his left asked. There was an answering grunt of, "When he wants to."

Paolo stared fixedly at the ceiling, trying not to betray his crippling fear. He wanted to run away screaming, but it was too late. There were guards armed with rifles standing at the doors—no doubt they had been instructed to shoot anyone who tried to escape.

A voice suddenly issued from the darkness, low and deadly: "I'm glad to see you could all, uh, make it."

Paolo's mouth went dry as a figure emerged from the shadows: tall and lean, the Joker looked every bit as grotesque as the papers made him out to be, with carefully applied face paint and ragged, greasy hair.

But his face paint wasn't what caught Paolo's attention: as he stared at the blood-red scars and the cold, dark eyes, the name "Jack Napier" involuntarily left his lips. This was the boy (but he was no longer a boy) whom Paolo had tried to warn at his wedding almost a decade ago. _He_ was the Joker. But…what had happened to his wife?

The Joker watched them with derisive, mocking amusement, and Paolo shivered when the maniacal clown's gaze met his own. A smirk briefly crossed his lips, but Paolo couldn't tell whether it was out of recognition or an acknowledgement of the terror he knew was plainly outlined on his face.

"Now," the Joker announced, finally tearing his gaze from Paolo's, "I have a… _challenge_ for you all. Whoever manages to get out of this room alive in the next ten seconds will be the lucky ones…or perhaps not." He chuckled in morbid glee, sending shivers down Paolo's spine, and retreated back into the darkness where he had come from.

The men stared at each other, debating, and in one rush they lunged at the door, no one except Paolo noticing there were snipers in the corner. He watched in horror, rooted to the spot, as they all fell down to the ground in a single, bloody heap.


	11. October 2007: Broken

By the time night fell, Lily had begun to whine loudly, causing Jeannie to snap in annoyance at her and thus making things even worse. Jeannie's own head throbbed with hunger and she was freezing, since it was the middle of autumn and there was obviously no heating system in the warehouse. She cuddled up with Lily on the mattress to keep warm, listening to the wind howling over the ocean (they must be somewhere near the docks, judging by the sound of waves crashing nearby) and was beginning to despair that the Joker would never come back.

Just as Jeannie was about to give up hope entirely, she heard quiet footsteps moving around downstairs. Lily had exhausted herself with her tantrum and had fallen asleep, her head on Jeannie's shoulder. Jeannie tensed as the Joker walked into the room, smirking when he saw them. "How… _touching_ ," he sneered. "It's a shame I can't take part."

"Where's the food?" Jeannie demanded.

"Food?" He pretended to be surprised, but there was barely concealed glee in his eyes.

"If you intend on keeping us here you're going to have to feed us," Jeannie said shortly.

" _Care_ -ful with your words, tiger, or I might not be so _generous_ next time," he cautioned her, grinning. "How's this…I'll give you food, but only if you give me something in return."

"What?"

"You know what." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"No," Jeannie said. "You don't want that, Ja— _Joker_. You don't give a shit about fucking me—"

"Watch your language, _Jean_ -nie." He made a disapproving noise and pointed at Lily, who was still sound asleep.

Jeannie had the sudden urge to smack him, but she took a deep breath and continued, "You just want to prove your dominance over me."

"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't need to do _that_. You already know it, don't you, hmmm? What happened to the _Jean-_ nie who would stand up to me?"

She glared darkly at him. He roughly shoved Lily off her and pulled her up, his hot, stinking breath blowing into her face. "I'm not keeping you here out of the _goodness_ of my heart," he snarled. "I need information from you, and we'll see how good you are at amusing me."

"We can't stay here forever," she spat.

"Try to get out, then," he replied, and she involuntarily jerked her hand back as if preparing for a punch before stopping in horror, her eyes widening. Of course, the Joker didn't miss this.

"Go on," he said, half-laughing. "Give it your best shot."

When she didn't respond, he rolled his eyes. "Ah, I see. You're a coward now, hmmm?"

"Being terrified for my life isn't the same thing as being a coward," she replied immediately.

He laughed. "Touch _é_ _._ But you jump to conclusions too quickly! No, no, you had no _idea_ what I meant. Pity…I thought you were smarter than that."

"I'm not giving you Lily," Jeannie said immediately.

"I don't care about the kid. If you want to eat tonight, you're going to have to _beg_ for it."

"What?"

"Beg," the Joker said, his lips twisting upward. "Mean it. Beg."

This was even worse than rape. He wanted to make Jeannie completely dependent on him and degrade her to something subhuman. "Please," she said half-heartedly.

"Come on," the Joker growled. "You can do better than that! _Beg_!"

It was then that Jeannie understood.

He wanted her broken.

* * *

Edward Nashton sat hunched up in his cell at Arkham, staring blankly at the ceiling. Predictably, he had had another one of his "breaks from reality" and had tried to kill a patient. After the guards had wrestled him down and pushed him into his cell, he had been taken off his medication, and he was now only halfway aware of what was going on around him.

"Good morning, Mr. Nashton," a voice announced. He slowly turned his head and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Jonathan Crane, who was standing in front of his cell door.

"I offer my condolences," the ex-psychologist said, sneering. His sneer only grew wider when he saw frustration pass over Edward's face; he loved to watch other people squirm while they tried to solve impossible riddles; but when _he_ was left in the dark then everything changed.

"Condolences?" Edward finally asked, annoyed.

"I believe your sister and her children were killed last night," Crane explained. "It's all over the papers."

Edward merely raised an eyebrow in slight interest. "Really?" He'd never had any affection for his family, but Emily's death _did_ come as a shock. He couldn't say he was upset about it, though, just…indifferent. And he'd never met his nephews, so it didn't matter about them one way or another. He was, however, ecstatic to hear that Anthony Garcia had been killed. Edward had always despised his self-important manner. In fact, he was slightly disappointed that _he_ hadn't been the one to finish him off. "Who did it?" he asked.

"The Joker," Crane said, relishing every word. "The Batman tried to save them, but he was too late."

Edward rolled his eyes; the bat-freak belonged in Arkham with the rest of them. He didn't believe that Wayne would murder Harvey Dent—oh yes, he had deduced Batman's identity long ago. It was faintly amusing that no one else was intelligent enough to put two and two together; but of course, that was typical of Gotham.

"So the Joker's out causing pandemonium again, is he?" he muttered to himself. "His plans will always fail. I suspect you know who he is?" he barked at Crane.

The doctor traced his lips with his fingers before nodding. "Of course. I would suspect that anyone who knew _Jack Napier_ would figure it out. But seeing as how most of those people have moved out of Gotham, are dead, or are too scared to say anything, I doubt that the truth will be revealed anytime soon. There wouldn't be a point to it, anyway, even if word does get out who he is."

" _Was_ ," Edward corrected, rolling his eyes. "He must have captured his wife and is hiding her somewhere."

"She had it coming to her," Crane replied coldly. "Anyway, you know as well as I do that we cannot let him run the city like this. We need to let him and the Batman know who's really in charge."

Edward grinned. "That should be easy."


	12. November 2007: Desperation

**One Month Later**

**November 2007**

There was no escape.

No matter how hard Jeannie tried, she couldn't find a way out of the warehouse. The windows were boarded up so tightly that her nails bled for days after she tried to pry the boards away. No amount of screaming and pounding on the walls, praying that someone would hear her, did anything. The days bled into weeks, and the small vestige of hope that still remained in her heart had long since burned out.

She carved a small line into the floor with every day that passed, and so far, she had twenty-four-meaning they'd been trapped for almost a month. She had lost a significant amount of weight—her face was sunken and her clothes hung loosely from her body. It didn't take Jeannie long to draw a cruelly ironic connection between her and Diana Grant—they were both imprisoned by men infinitely stronger than them, with no foreseeable means of escaping. They both had young children they needed to protect—with a jolt, Jeannie realized that Lily was the same age Jack had been when his mother was killed.

Where her daughter used to be bubbly and cheerful, Lily was now dull and quiet. She blamed the Joker for bringing them into their current situation, and would often announce loudly and vehemently that she hated him. Additionally, she'd become silent and distant even to Jeannie, often wriggling out of her arms or pretending she didn't hear her.

The Joker himself checked up on them very rarely, and when he did he only stayed for a couple of minutes, presumably to make sure they were still alive and sneer at them before leaving again.

Jeannie knew that he needed them for something—but _what_? He merely laughed whenever she demanded to know. She'd racked her brains searching for an answer—she had already told him where Edward was, so what else did he want to know? Now she regretted her decision to open her mouth-she'd already betrayed the Nashtons enough: after all, it was _her_ fault that Emily was dead. Despite her dislike of Edward, was she sending him to his death as well?

Gotham was struck with a blizzard that day, twenty-four days after they were first imprisoned. It was only mid-November, but already winter had begun, striking the city with an icy vengeance. The building rattled and shook as the winter winds battled outside. Jeannie was freezing, even with a flimsy blanket wrapped around her. Lily's lips were turning blue, but she'd squirmed out of Jeannie's grasp when she had tried to hug her. Now she was sitting in a corner visibly shivering, her blonde hair falling over her face as she buried it into her sleeve.

When Jeannie couldn't stand seeing her daughter in that tormented state any longer, she knew it was time to try her last resort.

The Joker had employed several of his men to keep watch outside the warehouse. Jeannie had tried to talk to them on multiple occasions, but she had never gotten any response back. They were in charge of bringing her and Lily the meager food supplies they received. But even if they _were_ the Joker's henchmen, there had to be some sort of humanity in them, right?

Then again, maybe not.

Jeannie climbed the ladder that led downstairs and hopped onto the ground floor. It was much colder down here, and her old, worn shoes cracked on the floorboards as she walked over to the boarded-up front door. There was a tiny slat where the food was pushed through nightly, hardly large enough for her head to fit through, much less her entire body.

Jeannie knelt down in front of the flap and stared through the small opening. She could just see a pair of legs standing in front of the door, darting about as if the person whom they belonged to was cold. After making sure that they hadn't noticed her, she straightened up and coughed loudly, trying to sound as horrible as she could.

There was no immediate answer from the guard, so she coughed again, this time for longer. After a short pause, a gruff, heavily-accented voice asked, "What do you want?"

"I think I'm sick," Jeannie croaked. "Please help me."

"If Boss finds out that his toy is sick, he'll kill us," a different voice said. Ah, so now there were two guards. The Joker must have tightened the security after her numerous attempts to escape.

"Should I go in?" the first voice asked, sounding nervous.

"Well, _I'm_ not," the second guard replied. There was a sudden rap at the door and the first one asked, "How the fuck am I supposed to get inside?"

"I don't know. How does Boss do it?" asked the second guard.

"I've never even seen him around here," the first one said. "Step away from the door!" he called, and Jeannie jumped to the side just as there was a deafening bang and the door was blasted clean off its hinges. She could do nothing but stare in shock as she caught her first glimpse of the outside world in a month—all she could see was a road and a tall brown building in the distance before a broad figure stepped into the doorway, blocking her only means of escape. "Don't even think about running," he warned.

"Why the _fuck_ would you do that, Paolo?" the second guard demanded. "How are you going to board it back up?"

"I'll hammer it back into place," the first guard shrugged. "Boss never comes in here anyway."

But Jeannie was barely listening to the conversation: she was too busy examining the guard who had come inside. " _Paolo_?" she asked in disbelief. "What are—what are you doing here?"

Jack's old colleague looked at her with a mixture of shame and annoyance. "I had no other choice," he mumbled. "I got a girl pregnant back in Italy and I need money…working for _him_ was the only choice I had."

Jeannie hadn't seen him since the wedding, and she had to resist the urge to hug him, as idiotic as that option would have been. "Did he recognize you?" she asked.

"I think so," Paolo admitted. "Let's just say I passed one of his tests and he assigned me here…I was shocked when I first heard your voice but I could never do anything. I shouldn't even be doing this. Wait," he said as Jeannie looked down in shame, "You're not really sick, are you?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "But I need your help. My daughter and I need to get out of here. Please help us, Paolo. You know what he's capable of. We can set things up so it will look like it was all my idea—"

But her dreams were crushed again as Paolo shook his head. "It's too dangerous," he said. "I can try to get you some extra food, but he'll kill all of us if your plan fails. I need the money..."

"Paolo, _please_ ," Jeannie begged, and she heard the raw edge of desperation in her voice as she clung with all her strength onto the last hope she had. She was begging exactly like the Joker had forced her to, with pure, unadulterated emotion. "You have to help us. What would you want me to do if the situation was reversed and this was _your_ wife and child?"

He looked at her, torn, and she could tell he was remembering the first time she'd walked into the bar Jack had been working at, searching for him…He opened his mouth but didn't speak, and when Jeannie's nerves were stretched to their breaking point and she was about to turn away, she heard his answer. It was one syllable, one of the most basic words anyone could speak, but to her it held the power of life and death:

"Yes."


	13. November 2007: Caught

"Yes?" Jeannie repeated, hardly able to believe her ears. She pivoted back and stared at Paolo, trying to stifle the hope that had suddenly erupted in her chest. "You'll help me?"

He nodded, the lines of his face creased in worry. "I don't know why he wants you here or what he's planning to do to you…but I've got the money I need, and if I run away straight away he won't be able to find me."

Jeannie could have kissed him at that moment. "Thank you so much," she breathed. "I'll owe you for the rest of my life."

"You don't owe me anything," Paolo told her. "No one should have to go through this."

"What are you doing in there?" the second guard called, and Jeannie saw another figure moving behind Paolo. He shot her a terrified look, and Jeannie immediately began to cough again.

"I'm trying to help her," Paolo called back to the guard.

"Sounds more like you're chatting her up," the guard said. "Boss is going to kill us if he finds out that we've been talking to her. It's not our problem if she's sick!"

"Tell me," Jeannie called back to him in a sudden burst of recklessness, "What made you so loyal to the Joker, anyway? You don't even know who I am! Aren't you curious?"

"Shut your mouth!" the guard warned, but Jeannie kept at it.

"What a sad, pathetic life you must lead, knowing you're going to be killed as soon as he has no more use for you. What kind of childhood did you have that made you end up like this? Would your parents be proud of you?"

Paolo shot her a warning look, but it was too late: the second guard, a huge, burly man with more tattoos than bare skin had stormed inside the warehouse, pointing his gun straight at her. Jeannie's heart kicked into action as her eyes widened and she stared at him, suddenly frightened.

"Not so confident now, huh?" Guard #2 asked, grinning at her, exposing a line of blackened teeth. "I should tell Boss about your little trick."

"Go ahead," Jeannie replied, keeping her voice as steady as she could—or at least, as steady as possible whilst also having a gun pointed at her face. "He knew that I would do something like this, anyway."

Guard #2's eyes narrowed at her defiance, but she didn't bother to explain that it was much easier to speak so bluntly when you knew someone from the inside out. He hadn't seen Jack as a fourteen-year-old boy, shivering in fear while his father punched him. He hadn't seen Jack bruised and beaten and bloody, shaking and staring with raw, unadulterated emotion up at her. He hadn't seen him so ill he could barely move, groaning and lost in fever dreams.

Jeannie had, and it made all the difference…when the Joker was absent, at least. When he bore down on her, facepaint masking every bit of Jack that was left and leaving behind only a maniacal clown, then it was harder for Jeannie to stand up to him. When his dark eyes were narrowed into slits and he flipped open his switchblade with one gloved finger, his lips pulling back to reveal yellow teeth, it was harder to be brave.

But the Joker wasn't here now, and Jeannie felt some her old fire flare back up as she stared at the guard.

"Just go back upstairs and I won't tell him," Guard #2 said, as if he was doing her a favor. "I'll give you three seconds."

"I'll give _you_ three seconds to stop being such an arrogant asshole," Jeannie snapped.

Everything happened in quick succession after that. Guard #2 snarled, and she saw his finger jerk on the trigger. At the same time, Paolo raised his own gun and shot the guard right in the side of the head. He fell to the ground at Jeannie's feet before she heard the bang of the gun, a bloody pool already beginning to form on the floor. There was a gust of cold air from outside, and she felt goosebumps rise along her arms and the wind whip around her hair as she stared, shocked, at Paolo. "You didn't need to do that," she accused.

"It was either you or him," Paolo said coldly. "You learn a few things growing up in the Narrows, the first being that sometimes you have to kill before you're killed." He pocketed his gun and kicked the guard's body out of the way. "Anyway, Boss said I could take him out if he gave me any trouble."

"Are you sure?" Jeannie asked, wide-eyed. She couldn't help glancing down at the prone body again, as if it held some mysterious force that automatically drew her gaze to it.

Paolo nodded, and unceremoniously dragged the guard's body outside, slamming the door on him with one last gust of cold air. "That's gonna leave a stain," he said offhandedly, nodding at the dark crimson puddle on the ground.

But Jeannie couldn't care less about the condition of the floor; freedom was in her grasp after nearly a month of despair, and she wanted to grab hold of it as quickly as possible. "Listen, I'll get Lily and we can leave now—" she began, but Paolo held up a hand to stop her.

"There are two more guards posted on the neighboring roof," he warned her. "You'll have to wait until tonight to try to sneak out. I can distract them."

This time Jeannie really did hug him "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. "Make sure that you run away too."

"I will," he assured her. "I'll go to Italy and never come back to Gotham."

"That's what I should have done," Jeannie muttered. At his questioning look, she explained, "Let's just say Jack and I were married for a few years, I got pregnant, and then after a _slight_ miscommunication, we each thought the other was dead. I moved to Chicago but came back when I realized that Jack was still alive…he's not Jack anymore, though." She lapsed into silence, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over when she thought of the cold, hard edge in the Joker's voice, the way he looked and talked like Jack but was somehow entirely different…it was as if an imposter had taken over his body.

"He never shows up here," Paolo mused. "And even then, he only stays for a couple of minutes at most…why is he keeping you here?"

"I don't know," Jeannie replied. "My only guess is that we're of use to him in some way. I can't imagine why, though…all he did was ask me where Edward Nashton was…"

"Edward Nashton?" Paolo repeated, staring at her with more than a hint of disbelief. "Haven't you heard what happened to him?"

Jeannie's pained look must have been answer enough for him, because he immediately backtracked, saying quickly, "He broke out of Arkham _weeks_ ago. He calls himself the Riddler now…the newest psycho running around Gotham. He killed the new mayor yesterday."

"Did he?" asked Jeannie, unable to hide her astonishment. "Maybe that's why the Joker hasn't been around here often…he's too busy with the Riddler."

"And Batman," Paolo added. "Of course, everyone knew that the giant rodent couldn't stay away for long. I bet he wishes he had—I don't envy his position, trying to fight both of them at once."

Jeannie opened her mouth to ask him what else had happened, but before she could speak there was a light pattering of feet on the upper floor and Lily's face peered out from the gap in the ceiling. "Who are you talking to?" she asked Jeannie, her dark eyes closely examining Paolo.

"Someone who's going to help us," Jeannie replied. She held out her arms and began to walk over to her daughter.

But Lily didn't jump into them as she usually did—she easily flipped herself over on the ladder and slid down the rungs with finesse, reminiscent of a cat. She watched Paolo with interest as Jeannie lifted her up and carried her over to him, her arms winding around her mother's neck.

"What's your name?" she asked him boldly.

"Paolo," he said, smiling at her and holding out his hand. Jeannie didn't particularly like the idea of a man who had just killed someone touching her daughter, regardless of whether he was on their side or not, but she kept her mouth shut as Lily took his hand and shook it, her small fingers grasping his large, callused hand.

"I'm Lily Napier," she introduced herself, and to her relief Jeannie saw a bit of the daughter she remembered alight in her eyes again. "I'm five years old and I was born in Chicago—"

"You can tell him your life story later, sweetie," Jeannie said, setting her back down on the ground and wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. She turned back to Paolo. "So you can get us out of here tonight?"

Lily impatiently began to tug on her sweater, but Jeannie didn't look down right away. Her eyes were still fixed on Paolo's. "I will," he assured her, giving a firm nod.

But a voice from behind him answered, "I, ah, wouldn't be so _sure_ about that."

Paolo whirled around right away, but Jeannie's reflexes were slower. She glanced down at Lily first, taking in her daughter's wide, fearful brown eyes, which were staring at a figure standing just behind Paolo. Jeannie then looked up, her gaze locking onto that of the Joker, who was standing just inside the doorway. His purple coat appeared almost black in the light, and his fingers were wrapped around his switchblade. His eyes were so full of malice and the promise of impending torture that Jeannie almost wanted to grab Paolo's gun and end it all herself, without having to look into that face for one more second.

And the Joker wasn't smiling.


	14. November 2007: Escape

In the deathly silence that followed, Lily began to cry, burying her face in Jeannie's side and pressing against her as if she could somehow become invisible. Jeannie never took her eyes away from the Joker, who was walking slowly toward them, one hand flicking back his greasy hair and the other still wrapped loosely around his switchblade, but whispered, her lips barely moving, "Lily, _run_."

"I don't want to leave you," Lily whispered back, her entire body quivering in fear.

"I'll be fine," Jeannie replied, but her insides twisted with guilt at the lie. After another moment, Lily untangled her arms from Jeannie and went sprinting toward the ladder, climbing up the rungs with a speed that impressed Jeannie, grateful her daughter had taken gymnastics.

The Joker, for his part, didn't even glance at Lily. He had, apparently, bigger fish to fry.

"Now," he began, circling around both of them as if he was trying to decide who he should start in on first, "I am quite _disappointed_ that you decided to have a little chat without me. It hurts my feelings, ya know?"

"It was her idea!" Paolo suddenly burst out, pointing at Jeannie. "She asked me to help her—"

"Tut, _tut_ ," the Joker admonished. "I never thought you'd sell her out like that! It makes me wonder if you would ever sell _me_ out if things get tough."

Paolo's face whitened as he realized he'd said the wrong thing. "I—I wouldn't—" he began, but it was too late. The Joker looked as if he was trying to decide the most grisly way to kill him, his dark eyes glittering.

"You know, Paolo," he began in a light, conversational tone, "I gave you a special job because I thought you could handle it. I guess you could even say that I _trusted_ you. And look—" he spread his arms out in a puzzled gesture, "You _broke_ that trust."

Normally Jeannie would have been upset with Paolo for betraying her, but seeing the look of pure terror on his face she could only muster up sympathy for him. "Please let me go," he begged. "I won't tell anyone about this…"

But it was clear that his pleas were futile. "You're a liar," the Joker said quietly. "And you know what? I. Don't. _Like_. Liars." His voice became deeper and more threatening until he nearly spat out the last word. Paolo looked as if he was about to faint—even Jeannie was rooted to the spot.

"You know what I think, Paolo?" the Joker asked, suddenly speaking in a friendly tone. "I think that we need to make sure you won't lie again."

Paolo's hand twitched toward his gun, but it came up empty: the Joker had stolen it. Jeannie was just as shocked as he was: she had been watching the Joker the entire time and hadn't seen him grab it. "Now," the Joker said, taking advantage of Paolo's outstretched arm to grab him and wrestle him to the floor. Paolo put up a good fight, but the Joker managed to pin him down, his limbs flailing everywhere. "Ah, ah, this will hurt more if you don't _stay still_."

Jeannie took this opportunity to try to make a run for it, but the Joker grabbed her around the waist and roughly pulled her against his side. "Don't even think about it, _tiger_ ," he mocked. The removal of one of his arms meant that Paolo's lower body was free, and his legs began to wildly kick around. Jeannie barely had time to register what was coming before there was a loud crack and she screamed, pain blinding all of her other senses. Blood poured from her nose and onto the Joker's arm as she wheeled around, trying to grab her broken nose.

"Oh, shush," the Joker said to her. "You can deal with a little pain, tiger. It's just blood, see?"

"SHUT UP!" Jeannie screamed at him, forgetting who he was for a moment and only able to focus on the pain that was consuming her entire being. The blood was pouring down the back of her nose into her throat and she began to hack and cough, spitting blood onto the floor.

"Ah, we can't have you talking back like _that_ now, can we?" the Joker admonished, his eyes bright with exhilaration. "Watch very closely, because this will be what happens to you next if you ever try to escape again." With ease, he stuck his switchblade in the yelling Paolo's mouth. Jeannie quickly shut her eyes, but she could _hear_ what was happening: the yells quickly turned to gurgles and the Joker began to cackle wildly. "How does it feel to swallow your own lies?" he asked, his voice high-pitched and quivering with excitement.

Jeannie opened her eyes again, but immediately wished she hadn't: Paolo was spluttering and gurgling on the floor, blood pouring from his mouth, while the Joker was holding his head back and trying to shove something down the man's throat.

The Joker had cut Paolo's tongue off and was force-feeding it to him.

Momentarily forgetting about her broken nose, Jeannie turned her head and vomited what little food there was in her stomach onto the floor.

There was one last stifled scream from Paolo, and then silence. Jeannie lifted her head up, wiping her mouth, to see that he had finally stilled, his face one indistinguishable bloody lump. She felt like vomiting again when she saw his corpse.

The Joker impatiently wiped his knife off on the part of Paolo's shirt that wasn't bloody, and turned back to her, looking gleeful. "Be careful, unless you want that happening to _you_ ," he warned. "Still, I believe a punishment is in order…I've been thinking about this one for a while!"

"What do you mean, you 've been thinking about it for a while?" Jeannie demanded. Just as suddenly, a horrible thought dawned on her. "You mean you knew I would do this?"

The Joker looked delighted. "Congrat-u- _lations_ , tiger! You've figured it out. I'm just disappointed it took you that long to try and escape!"

"So you made Paolo a guard on purpose!" she exclaimed. "You were planning to kill him all along!"

He nodded. "The look on your face when I walked in was hil- _ar_ -ious!" Chuckling at the memory, he laughed even harder at her scream of rage.

Jeannie didn't know how to put her anger into words. She wanted to kick him, punch him with all her might…but she knew that would be a death sentence. He had Paolo's gun in one hand and his switchblade in the other…if she got him angry enough, she was sure he wouldn't hesitate to kill her. "You thought you could escape from here?" he continued to mock. "No, no, _no_ …it's gonna be more difficult than _that_ , _Jean_ -nie."

She could do nothing but clench her teeth and glare at him, while he looked amused by her outburst. "We have to _stick together_. 'Til death do us part and all that."

When Jeannie refused to answer, he looked disappointed for once, his eyes losing their malicious spark. "Come on, tiger. Don't you see? He was willing to betray you to save his _worthless_ skin. That's all people do—lie and cheat their way out of trouble. When everything is going well, they're willing to help you. But when they're in danger…" he trailed off, his voice becoming lower.

"He wouldn't have been in danger if you hadn't come in!" Jeannie retorted. Her nose throbbed painfully, and she felt another wave of blood begin to gush out of it. Her hand reached up and clapped over her nose, feeling the sticky liquid seep between her fingers.

The Joker appeared to have let all his anger out on Paolo; he'd gone through another one of his unpredictable mood swings. Instead of thrumming with energy, he seemed slower, almost restrained, as he reached out a hand and tried to pry Jeannie's hand away from her nose. She wouldn't budge at first, but when she felt another pain begin to build up in her wrist she had no choice but to let him take her hand away, glaring at him with all the venom she could muster.

"Hey," he cautioned, his dark eyes not leaving hers. "I'm trying to help you. Is this how you repay me, hmmm?"

" _Help_?" she choked, snorting humorlessly. That only caused more blood to gush out of her nose, and she couldn't help but wince as she watched through watering eyes at the Joker slowly pulling off his gloves and laying him on the floor beside him. They were dirty and callused, the nails were yellow and far too long, while fresh scars were embedded on his palms. But they were Jack's hands, and that memory, somehow, was even more worse to Jeannie than the physical pain she was experiencing.

"It's broken," the Joker said, after he'd gently tapped her nose with his finger. He looked pleased. "Perhaps that'll teach ya to listen to me next time, hmmm, love?"

"Don't call me love," Jeannie snapped.

"Touchy, are we? You used to _love_ that." The Joker grinned wickedly.

"Yeah, well, you used to love when I called you Jack, too, but somehow I doubt that's still the case," she couldn't stop herself from biting back. Part of her was shocked that she was speaking so disrespectfully to him like this, but she couldn't help herself. Would other people be so insolent, if they'd known him…before? Emily hadn't been afraid of speaking back to him, and look where that had gotten her.

She expected the Joker to slap her silly for calling him _Jack_ , but instead that scarred mouth twisted upward, as if in approval. "Very good, _Jean_ -nie," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "How…perceptive of you." His tone turned mocking, his eyes sparkling again.

Frustration boiled up inside Jeannie. The Joker, despite his insistence that she not call him by his _real_ name, was, for all his boasting, still Jack—the same Jack that she had spent hours talking to, hours kissing, hours lying next to him while she pretended they were the only ones left in the world—could still sense when she was about to explode. He grabbed her wrists and held them together in one of his hands, the other pushing her downward so that he was straddling her, the heat from his body burning into hers. Memories from the night at the hotel rushed back to Jeannie, and she felt her face burn, remembering his violence during that night, his growls and glares at her. By the end of that night, however short it had lasted, most of his makeup had smeared off, revealing an older, crueler version of Jack. Jeannie wondered if he looked at his naked face in the mirror fearlessly, or if he was so attached to the Joker persona that he could no longer separate it from Jack. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer, anyway.

As if reading her thoughts, the Joker smirked before planting a hard kiss on her lips, satisfied with this display of dominance. She could simultaneously feel his body weight pressing into her lower abdomen, keeping her legs trapped beneath him, his rough, jagged scars pressing into her skin, and the taste of his facepaint against her tongue, repulsive and sickly sweet. The wooden boards were freezing against her back, and her skin was beginning to go numb.

When Jeannie began to writhe under him, her lungs screaming for air, the Joker's lips stayed on hers until she could see darkness beginning to tug at the corners of her eyes—which had been his intent, she was sure. When he did finally pull away, she began to gasp greedily, air whooshing back inside her lungs. She frantically blinked away the darkness, wanting to see him as clearly as possible lest he try to attack her.

"I thought—you were going to—fix my nose," she panted when his brown eyes came back into focus, only realizing how stupid that sounded when he began to laugh maniacally.

"I thought you didn't want me _helping_ you," he said. But before Jeannie could answer, he'd reached out his free hand and grabbed the bridge of Jeannie's nose, twisting it without warning.

There was another loud crack as it snapped back into normal position, and an excruciating wave of pain washed over Jeannie. She didn't scream as she had when it had originally been broken—she automatically fainted, borne on a wave of agony and, for the moment, not thinking about anything other than how much pain she was in.

* * *

It was much darker when she regained consciousness. Jeannie was staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse, wishing that it had taken longer for her memories to come back to her.

There was a malicious cackle from beside her. "Sleeping Beauty _awakes_ ," the Joker announced. Jeannie prolonged opening her eyes for as long as she could so she wouldn't have to look at his face, but her survival instincts told her she would have a greater chance of living if she could actually _see_ him, so she opened her eyes and just as quickly cringed away from his face, which was hovering directly over hers. He was kneeling down next to her, looking as if he had just reapplied his facepaint after the struggle with Paolo. Vaguely, Jeannie wondered where he kept the bottles—were they hidden in his coat?

Jeannie slowly sat up. The warehouse was half-shrouded in darkness, though it was probably still late afternoon. Night descended early during the shadowy days of November, hovering between fall and winter, when everything was dead but the snow had not yet begun to fall.

Her nose ached dully, but it was nowhere near the blazing pain she had experienced earlier. Oddly enough, she couldn't feel the dried blood caked on her face. Jeannie reached up her hand to her nose, and was astonished to feel smooth skin there, devoid of the bloody mess it had previously been. Her surprised gaze flickered to the Joker, and then to the bloody rag that was crumpled up on the floor beside him. The vision of him wiping away from the blood from her face made her feel extremely uncomfortable. "Why did you clean my face?" she asked, rubbing her nose as if he had smeared a message there with blood—she wouldn't put it past him.

"We have to have you looking pre- _sen_ -table, don't we?" the Joker giggled, jumping lithely to his feet again. When Jeannie didn't move fast enough for him, he grabbed her by the arm and forcibly pulled her up, nearly tearing it out of its socket.

"For what?" Jeannie asked. She could see that, though there was still an obscenely large bloodstain on the floor, Paolo's body was gone. Her stomach roiled at the memory, and for a second she thought she might vomit again.

"For _tonight_ ," he told her, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled out a sleek black dress that would barely cover her torso and thrust it at her.

Jeannie had no choice but to grab the dress, giving him a disbelieving look. "You want me to wear this?" she asked. "But I—"

"Put it on," he told her impatiently, running his tongue along his lips. He looked as if he was about to start tapping his foot impatiently.

Jeannie hesitated, but after an exaggerated eyeroll he said, "Come _on,_ it's nothing I haven't seen before."

Hoping his goons weren't leering through the windows at her, she changed out of her clothes and into the dress as quickly as she could, shivering at the sudden rush of cold air on her exposed skin. The Joker made an approving noise as he slowly circled her, closing his gloved hands around her bare arms. The leather tickled her skin, and she shuddered away from him.

"What's happening?" she asked, nervous. He clucked his tongue impatiently and gave her an incredulous look, as if she should know the answer.

She'd barely seen him in the past month save for a couple of minutes each day, and here he was acting as if she should know what they were doing? But Jeannie bit her tongue and instead she saying, "Where's Lily?"

The Joker shrugged theatrically. " _I_ don't know," he said in a bored tone. "Do I _look_ like I care where the kid is?"

Jeannie wrenched her arms out of his grasp and walked over to the ladder. "Lily?" she called.

"I'm not coming down," was the answering call, and Jeannie felt a rush of relief. At least she was still alive.

"Please?" she asked. "I promise you won't be hurt."

There was a derisive snort from the Joker, but Jeannie didn't look back at him. She waited until she saw Lily's face hesitantly peer over at her until she smiled. "What have you been doing?" she asked as her daughter flipped over the edge of the ladder and expertly scurried into her arms. "Don't do that, sweetie, it's dangerous."

"Do it as often as you like, kid," the Joker called, coming up behind Jeannie. "Maybe if you're lucky, you'll break a couple of bones instead of killing yourself!"

Jeannie whirled around, prepared to give him a slap whether she would get hurt or not, but as it turned out Lily beat her to it: she kicked the Joker as hard as she could in the shin. He pretended to stumble backward, but he was laughing. "You might have to work on that!" he cried in hilarity, but his smile disappeared just as quickly, his hand reaching out to snatch Lily's arm, who was trying to hide behind Jeannie.

Ignoring Jeannie's protests, the Joker shook Lily by the arm, her entire body jerking with each movement. Tears filled her eyes as he spat at her, "I have some _tricks_ I'd like to show you. Your mother can tell you that they're not things you want to _see_ , so unless you're really curious, you will not do that again. Un-der- _stood_?"

Mutely, Lily nodded. The Joker let go of her, and she was back up on the ladder in an instant.

"Now, tiger," the Joker said, his dark eyes burning in disgust as he stared up at where his daughter had disappeared, "It's time to go _show you off_."

"What are you talking about?" Jeannie cried as he pushed her toward the door, keeping one gloved hand on her back. "Where are we going? I can't leave Lily—"

"Actually, we _can_." The Joker easily caught her around the waist as she turned around and tried to wrestle free from him. Jeannie found her face buried in the shoulder of his long, purple coat, which stank of gasoline. She could remember the scent lingering on him all those years ago, on the day she'd seen him again after he'd returned from Toronto, but now the smell did nothing other than make her feel ill. She winced as he squeezed her so tightly she could feel bruises forming and he all but shoved her out the door, never loosening his grip.

"Lily! I'll be back, I promise!" Jeannie settled for calling as loud as she could instead, hoping she would be able to hear.

The Joker giggled. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, kid," he shouted, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

"Mommy, don't leave me!" Lily suddenly screamed. Jeannie saw her blonde hair falling in front of her face while she gripped the bars of the ladder as if she was going to flip off them; it creaked precariously under her weight.

Terrified she was going to fall off and injure herself, Jeannie struggled in the Joker's arms, but he held her back with seemingly little effort. "The kid's not going to starve," he grunted as he shoved her in the direction of the door. "Besides, she'll _spoil_ the _fun_."

"But—your men—"

The Joker looked incredulously at her for a moment before bursting out laughing. "You think that they're going to _do_ something to her?" He doubled over, gasping, and Jeannie took this opportunity to kick him in the groin. His grip momentarily loosened on her, and she sprinted outside into the freezing air.

She was in the industrial district down by the ocean—she could see the lights of the city skyline across the bay flickering on the water. The moon was full and bright, casting a white glow onto the ground. Jeannie followed the path of flickering streetlamps past the nondescript warehouse where they'd been imprisoned. There was no one around, and didn't dare to look behind her in fear the Joker was following her.

But she didn't get more than a hundred meters before something slammed into her from behind and she went flying off the road and into the grass below. Dizzy and her head pounding, she realized that the Joker had thrown himself at her and they were lying in the muddy ground next to the water. Now he wasn't laughing—his expression was filled with rage.

"Thought you could escape me, Jeannie?" he asked, his voice a low growl. Before Jeannie could answer, he'd slapped her hard across the face.

Despite all of their fights through the years, Jack had never, ever punched or hit her. Jeannie stared up at the Joker as he continued to pant loudly, glaring down at her with the eyes of the devil. "I don't _like_ having to chase after you," he snarled. "It's not _fun_ anymore."

"Then don't chase after me," Jeannie hissed. "Leave us alone."

For one wild second, she thought he was going to slap her again, but she saw a slow, languid smile spread under the makeup. "That's not gonna happen," he said. "So you had better learn to live with it. Look on the bright side, that's my motto! It's what I'm always trying to tell Batman, but he's too busy brooding to take my advice…"

Jeannie stared at him, not sure what to say lest she set him off again, until he suddenly jumped up, pulling her with him. "Don't forget that," he hissed, putting his mouth close to her ear. His scarred mouth brushed across her cheek, and she could feel him press his lips against her skin before he straightened up, making an exaggerated smacking sound. "Now let's _go_ ," he said. "I don't like to be _late_. It's very rude of me, and I wanna make a good impression."

"For the last time, _who_ are we meeting?" Jeannie asked.

The Joker's voice dropped to a low hum, and there was almost a loving caress in his voice. "I'm gonna introduce you to the _Batman_."

* * *

Hundreds of miles away in Chicago, the entire Kerr family was sitting in the living room of Liam's spacious house, all with worried looks on their faces. Liam was pacing up and down the length of the room, his hands clenched into tight fists. Susan was sitting on the couch watching him nervously, prepared to call the ambulance if the vein that was currently throbbing in his temple burst, which seemed a very likely occurrence. Harriet and her husband Kenneth sat next to Susan, and Rebecca's wheelchair was in the middle of the room. George had a protective hand on the arm of the wheelchair. Mrs. Kerr was staring out the window, still in crutches from her operation, pretending to be lost in her own thoughts but really listening to every word that was spoken. Unbeknownst to the adults, David, Joanna, and Fiona were listening at the door.

"They've been gone for nearly a month and we haven't heard from them," Liam was saying furiously. "He has them, I just know it. The school hasn't found a replacement teacher for her yet, and even my _clients_ know that my sister and niece are missing. People are offering me condolences, for God's sake!"

"Oh, shut up, Liam," Harriet snapped. "No one cares about your job. Jeannie and Lily could very well be hiding somewhere and are afraid to leave the city—"

"You think the Joker hasn't caught them yet?" Liam demanded, wheeling around to face her. "He probably fed them through a meat grinder and their remains are scattered all over Gotham, waiting for us to collect them!"

"It's not our fault that she decided to stay," Rebecca said quietly. "But it _is_ our responsibility to find her."

"The police have been searching for a month and haven't found them," Liam spat. "There's only one person who knows where they are."

Kenneth suddenly snorted. "What are you going to do? Sue the Joker?"

"This isn't the time for—" Liam stopped himself before he could say 'joking around'. "Someone has to go to Gotham, and not leave until they have found Jeannie and Lily, whether they're alive or not."

"I'll do it," Mrs. Kerr said, speaking for the first time. There was an instant uproar.

"Mom, you can't, you're nearly sixty," Liam said. "Becky can't either because she's in a wheelchair…" He didn't volunteer himself, leaving only one option left.

Harriet sighed. "I always hated that boy," she muttered. " _Jack_ fucking _Napier_ …"

"Watch your language," Mrs. Kerr warned. "Listen, I'm going to find him, and there's nothing any of you can do about it. I've worked in psychiatry for almost forty years. I know how to handle men like him."

"But there's nobody like him, that's the point—" Liam began, falling silent when his mother gave him a sharp look.

"That's what he wants everyone to believe," Mrs. Kerr replied briskly. Under everyone's incredulous gazes, she took off her glasses and stuck them in her pocket before leaving the room, leaving its current occupants with the distinct feeling that she would never come back.


	15. November 2007: Trace

The Joker dragged her back across the road, where a car was parked haphazardly along the sidewalk, taking up three parking spaces and causing a barricade for any other car which might happen to be driving down the street.

 _Not that anyone would ever want to be in this part of Gotham anyway_ , Jeannie couldn't help but think. The Joker sneered at her as if he knew what she was thinking before roughly shoving her into the car, nearly slamming the door on her fingers. Jeannie's heart pounded as he got into the driver's seat, her fingers fumbling with the seatbelt. Despite how ridiculous it looked, she wasn't going to take any chances.

The Joker was an absolutely insane driver—but really, what else had she expected? He drove at least thirty miles over the speed limit, swinging from lane to lane, taking random turns down alleyways, and paying no attention to the traffic lights. Jeannie had to keep one hand pressed over her mouth to stop herself from screaming—she was sure that if she gave any indication of her fear, he would drive even _more_ recklessly. She finally ended up closing her eyes and pretending that she was on a roller coaster.

It felt like hours, though it was probably only a few minutes later, that the car finally screeched to a halt. Jeannie, who was beginning to feel more than a little bit ill from the constant turning and twisting, couldn't believe she'd made it in one piece.

The Joker seemed to be sparking with raw energy as he pushed her out of the car, keeping a tight grip on her arm. "I can walk by myself," Jeannie started to say.

"We can't have you trying to run away again, tiger," he said, but he sounded almost preoccupied. His head kept twisting around as if he was searching for something and there was an odd light in his eyes the likes of which she had never seen before.

They were in the very heart of Gotham now—skyscrapers loomed over their heads, blocking out the light of the stars and reflecting the artificial lights above them. Jeannie drew her dress tighter around her shoulders as the Joker strode into an office building. She didn't see him draw the gun, but she heard two loud bangs as he promptly shot the night guards. As she hurried behind him, Jeannie kept her eyes fixed on the ground so she wouldn't have to look at the bodies of his poor victims.

When she caught up with him, he dragged her into an elevator. Being in a space this enclosed with him made her feel even worse, and she shrank into the very farthest corner—as if it would do her any good. The Joker noticed this and laughed, his curls swinging from side to side as he shook his head. "Come on, tiger, stop acting like a coward," he chastised.

"My name," she said through clenched teeth, "is Jeannie."

"Fine, then, _Jean_ -nie," he said, dragging the syllables out slowly, just as he used to. His dark eyes lingered on hers, and Jeannie stared back, albeit with less confidence. The smirk had disappeared from his face, and for a moment it seemed as if time had frozen.

Then the elevator stopped with a loud ding, the doors swung open, and the moment had passed. The Joker reached out his arm again and heaved her outside onto the rooftop.

She supposed the view was nice, but she couldn't take in any of the sights very well. A freezing wind blew past them, and she shivered as the Joker dragged her over to the wall, pulling out a piece of rope from his pocket and looping it around her before tying it to a nearby pole.

"What are you _doing?_ " Jeannie shrieked at him.

"You _see_ ," the Joker announced loudly, as if he was speaking to a large crowd, "Batman has been so busy with the, uh, Riddler lately that he's neglected little old me. But if he sees a damsel in distress…"

"So you're using me as bait?" she asked, suddenly too-aware of the ropes digging into her skin and the way the wind whipped around her dress, sending goosebumps across her flesh.

"I _guess_ you could call it that," the Joker said, considering, "But that sounds so derogatory. How about, ah, collateral?"

But it soon became clear that Batman didn't seem to be interested in collateral. The night slowly wore on, and Jeannie grew colder and colder until her fingers and toes were nearly numb. The Joker paced in front of her, muttering indistinguishable words and occasionally stroking the blade of his knife, as if imagining what he would do to Batman once he finally arrived.

Jeannie was just beginning to give up when she saw, through half-closed eyes, the Joker tense, as if he was a dog that had spotted a fox. The wind blew his hair around wildly, but he stood perfectly still. Jeannie strained to see what had caught his attention, but the area at the opposite end of the rooftop was pitch-black.

"I know you're there," the Joker said, softly. It angered Jeannie; this was the way Jack used to talk to _her_ , in that almost loving tone, very gentle.

A black object came whizzing out of the darkness, knocking the knife right out of the Joker's hand and missing his skin by mere inches. Jeannie gasped; but the Joker seemed to have been expecting this and he laughed in delight.

Just as quickly, a huge figure dropped down, it seemed, from the sky, landing right on top of the Joker. It was the third time Jeannie had seen Batman, and she was no less awed as she watched the hulking figure pin the Joker to the ground and land a punch to the side of his head. She wasn't sure whether to feel worried or relieved at the Dark Knight's presence as he began to pummel the Joker, growling in rage.

"Oh, don't be mad," the Joker crowed in between blows. "I missed our little nights together. I guess you could even say I was _jealous_. The Riddler isn't nearly as fun as me, hmmm?"

"And I'm sure Arkham will appreciate you more than me," Batman snarled. He hauled the Joker to his feet and slammed him against the wall. The Joker laughed, blood running in little rivulets down his face and onto his coat, smearing his facepaint.

Jeannie let out an involuntary cry, and Batman looked up at her for the first time. She could see his eyes glittering from behind his cowl, and she gave him her best terrified look, hoping he would realize she was a hostage and not working with the Joker.

"Ah, you've seen my lovely tiger!" the Joker crowed. "She's mine, Batman, so don't even think about it!"

"Who is she?" Batman demanded. When the Joker laughed, he slapped him across the face, in much the same way that Jeannie had experienced an hour beforehand.

"You'll have to figure that one out yourself!" the Joker called, exultant. "I thought you were supposed to be a good detective!" That, of course, earned him another round of punches, and this time the Joker slumped to the ground, unmoving.

Batman made sure he really was unconscious before moving to Jeannie in a flash. "Thank you so much," she breathed as the ropes were swiftly untied from her body. "He was using me as bait."

"You need to get out of here quickly," Batman advised her. "It won't be much longer before he wakes up."

"I can't," Jeannie begged. "It's not just me! I have a daughter—she's in a warehouse down by the—"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence; the Joker was already beginning to stir. Batman looked down at her, his dark eyes seeming almost apologetic behind the cowl. Jeannie pushed off the wall and steadied herself, wrapping her wrist against his armour-plated arm. She couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be punched by him.

"Thank you," Jeannie whispered one more time. Her eyes traced over his muscular form, the chiseled jaw that stuck out from the lower half of his mask, and his hazel eyes…she wondered what would drive a man to dress up in a bat suit and jump on rooftops fighting crime. The same thing that drove a man to dress up as a clown and terrorize the city, she supposed.

As Batman rushed to distract the Joker, Jeannie took off, slipping back through the doors and feeling a wave of relief as the warm air hit her skin. But just as quickly, panic began to set in, and adrenaline shot through her veins. Instead of waiting for the elevator, she took the stairs, leaping over railings and taking the steps two at a time. She kept turning around, fearing the Joker would pursue her, but nothing came chasing after her. She could only hope Batman had kept him sufficiently diverted.

She reached the lobby, trying not to look at the bodies of the two dead guards, and emerged out into the cold air. She darted across the street, ignoring the annoyed honks of cars, and ran through the roads at random, trying to get as far away from the Joker as possible.

After she had run past a group of drunk men who'd whistled and leered at her, she stopped to examine herself for the first time, out of breath. Her dress had ripped up the side, and her hair—which hadn't been properly washed in weeks—was greasy and tangled. She must look like a prostitute. Now, Jeannie wasn't in the Narrows, but she knew the city well enough to know that she didn't want to be outside in _any_ part of it looking like she currently did.

So she continued walking, looking for a place to stay, if only temporarily. Her eyes finally fell on an old, neon sign, flickering and buzzing, that advertised a bar. She crossed the street and headed toward it, hoping the gang of men standing around near the door would be enough to give her warning if the Joker decided to show up.

The door buzzed as she opened it, but luckily, most of the current occupants seemed to be too absorbed in their poker game at one of the tables to notice much. The air was hazy with smoke, and that combined with the dim lighting meant Jeannie could barely see as she made her way over to the bar. It was very convenient—as long as anyone didn't get too close, they wouldn't be able to properly notice her.

She took a seat at the stool furthest from the door, and the bartender walked over to her. "What will it be tonight?" he asked her.

"The strongest drink you've got," Jeannie said in a weary voice. She wanted to feel numb.

The bartender nodded, and a minute later he handed her a shot glass filled to the brim with an amber liquid. Jeannie downed it in one, trying not to wince as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. She didn't drink much—the only time she'd been slightly tipsy was at an office party two years before.

"Do you know how far the industrial district is from here?" she asked as she reached for another glass. Her empty stomach churned, but the alcohol had already given her a pleasant, warm feeling.

"About ten miles," the bartender said, turning around from where he was polishing a glass with a dirty-looking cloth, and Jeannie's heart sank. It was too far for her to walk, especially in the dead of night. "Why?"

"No reason," she said, easily downing her next drink. The bartender looked alarmed. "Hey, lady, that's not meant for chugging—"

"I can handle it," Jeannie said, reaching for the third glass. "What is it, anyway?"

"Vodka martini," the bartender replied. As she reached for a fourth glass, he quickly pushed the drink away from her. "Miss, I really don't think—"

"Listen, I thought you had a good reputation," Jeannie said. "At least that's what the sign outside the door says."

The bartender looked nervous but ultimately gave her the drink back. Jeannie drank her fourth shot, forgetting everything except the wonderfully numb feeling spreading throughout her body. Her thoughts were beginning to become jumbled, which she welcomed—she didn't want to be worrying about the Joker, or Lily, or Batman, or herself…what kind of idiot dressed up like a giant bat, anyway? It was like something from the movies.

Jeannie laughed out loud, tossing her hair back. The bartender wasn't very attractive, but he wasn't completely hideous, either, and there was a trace of warmth in his green eyes…Jeannie crossed her legs and smiled at him. "So, what's your name?" she asked him.

"Martin," he grunted, not reacting. Women did this to him all the time, but of course Jeannie wasn't thinking about that.

She continued to pester him, but he kept giving her the cold shoulder until she was forced to give up. How many glasses had she had now? Six…seven? The world was beginning to turn fuzzy. She turned her attention to the men sitting at the poker table, who hadn't so much as glanced at her.

Jeannie spun around in her stool, preparing to go speak to them, but the spinning motion make her feel ill and she slumped back onto the table. "Ugh…" she said, her head falling into her hands. "I don't feel so good…"

Martin was about to pour her a glass of water when the door banged open and a man in a purple suit walked in. Of course, everyone knew who the Joker was, and there was an instant uproar. Gunshots rang out as the Joker proceeded to shoot everyone in the bar, including the bartender…everyone except for Jeannie. Dried blood caked his face and his makeup was almost smeared off, but he walked toward her and heaved her off the stool.

The sound of the shots had hurt her ears, and she tried to cover them. The back of her mind dimly realized that the Joker had grabbed her but she couldn't stand by herself and settled for leaning into him as he supported her out of the bar.

"Why aren't…you laughing?" she slurred as he wrenched open the car door and shoved her in the backseat.

"Because there is nothing remotely funny about this, _Jeannie_ ," he said, throwing a bucket at her just as she vomited everywhere. If she had been more conscious, she would have seen what looked like disapproval in his eyes.

She spent the rest of the ride back intermittently being sick and groaning. By the time the Joker hauled her out of the car and back into the warehouse, the world was spinning around her. She heard Lily cry, "Mommy?" as they re-entered, but by then she was too far gone and promptly fell into oblivion.

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth was used to Bruce arriving back at all hours, but this particular night had to be a record. Dawn was almost breaking over Gotham, and Alfred still had yet to hear the whirr of the elevator coming up to the penthouse that signaled Bruce was home.

After half an hour of pacing through the rooms, trying to conceal his worry, Bruce finally stepped inside. "Where have you _been_?" Alfred demanded at once, not bothering to hide his relief at the fact that Bruce seemed to be uninjured. "I was just about to climb on the roof and call for you myself."

"I know who the Joker is," Bruce said, sitting down on one of the black leather couches that littered the apartment.

"Well, congratulations," Alfred replied, his voice heavy with irony. "Did you two have a nice heart-to-heart?"

Bruce gave him a disapproving look before explaining. "Well, I know who he _was_ , at least. Do you remember the name Paul Napier?"

"Yes, of course," Alfred answered. "He was a well-known hitman for the mob about thirty years ago. He was killed up in Toronto just after you left to go to Princeton."

"Paul Napier had a son, named Jack," Bruce continued. "He was a hitman for a few years as well, before he was supposedly killed. Wiped clean off the records."

"What's your point, sir?" Alfred asked, though the look in his eyes suggested that he knew exactly what the point was.

"I interrogated a few people who had known him, and the clues match up—same height, build, hair, and eye colour. Their personality traits were also similar. It would explain why he brought the mob down a peg—he had a personal grudge against them."

"Like father, like son," said Alfred. "But why would he detest the mob so much if he was working for them?"

"That's what I thought at first. I even began to doubt it was really him. But something convinced me." Bruce abruptly stood up and walked over to the window, staring out at the glowing city lights. "The Joker had a woman tied up tonight. At first I thought he'd just abducted an innocent citizen to get to me, but he refused to say who she was. Then I checked the records, and there is a marriage license stating that Jack Napier got married to a woman named Jennifer Kerr eight years ago. She was killed in a house fire—set by the mob—on the same day that Jack supposedly died."

"But she wasn't really killed, was she?" Alfred asked quietly.

Bruce shook his head. "I did some more research on her, and she's still alive and well, according to the Chicago records. She's a high school teacher there, and has a five-year-old daughter named Lily. The woman tonight told me that her daughter was in danger as well. But what really convinced me was that I actually met Jennifer—Jeannie—years ago. I remember we were chased by a pack of paparazzi, and I invited her over for dinner, but that never happened." He chuckled at the memory, sticking his hands into his pockets. "I ran into her a few times after that…but the last time I saw her was at Zach Collingwood's funeral. She was there with her husband, Jack. I didn't see him properly, but the height and build would be about the same as the Joker's. It was him, Alfred. I'm sure of it."

"So what happened to Jeannie?" Alfred asked.

"She managed to escape, and the Joker ran right after her. I've never seen him do anything like it before—he's never passed up an opportunity to fight with me. I couldn't catch up with him because I had to deal with the Riddler…he has them, Alfred. I just know it. And a child is in danger as well…"

"Don't blame yourself," Alfred said firmly. "You couldn't have prevented it. By the sound of it, I would guess the Joker isn't planning to kill either of them just yet."

Bruce nodded, still staring out the window. "I'm going to talk to Gordon tomorrow night and have his men search for them. I'll see what I can do to get the Joker to lure them back." He abruptly turned around and began the walk down the hall to his bedroom.

"Just be careful, sir," Alfred called to his retreating figure. "The Joker has always been one step ahead of you."

"I know," Bruce replied. "This time I'll have to be two steps ahead of _him_."

* * *

A pounding headache woke up Jeannie the next morning. She threw a hand over her forehead, as if it would alleviate the pain, and opened her eyes. The light was agony and it took all she had not to close them again.

She was lying on her mattress in the warehouse. Sunlight was pouring through the tiny, dirty window, and she vaguely thought it was ironic that the sun hurt her eyes now, when she was usually complaining about how dark it was.

What had happened the previous night? The last thing Jeannie could remember was fleeing from the rooftop. The Joker must have caught up to her…

Her throat ached as she sat up, the throbbing of her head now feeling like someone was drilling into it. She wondered if the Joker was still around, or if he was planning to subject them to another day of isolated torment.

Jeannie's tired eyes caught movement above her, and she saw that Lily was in the room as well, balancing on one of the old ceiling beams. "Honey, get down from there," Jeannie groaned, her motherly instinct kicking in despite her headache.

"But it's like a balance beam, Mommy!" Lily replied. Her clothes were dirty and her shoes were scuffed. Before Jeannie could stop her, she twirled off the beam, somersaulting in midair and landing nimbly on her feet in front of her mother.

"Yes, she's quite the little ac-ro- _bat_ ," a voice said from the doorway. Jeannie hadn't noticed the Joker come in, and instinctively stood up, though her balance was still poor. Lily immediately jumped into her arms and Jeannie stumbled backward—she'd never realized how heavy her daughter was.

"Still feeling a bit hungover?" he continued, and laughed at her horrified expression. "Yes, I found you drinking your, uh, _sorrows_ away. That'll teach you next time, hmmm?"

"Water," Jeannie managed to croak.

"I'm afraid I don't have any on me at the moment," the Joker replied gleefully, enjoying every second of her pain. "Still, perhaps you'll get lucky and there'll be some at the new place."

"The new place?" Jeannie asked. Lily dared to lift her head from her mother's shoulder, the same curiosity mirrored in her eyes.

"Well, ya can't stay here forever," the Joker said. "Not when there's a _search_ party for you."

"There's a search party?" Jeannie asked. "Why?"

"That's what I thought too," he replied. "I mean, who would want a whiny brat and an alcoholic? But apparently the police don't see it my way." He chuckled to himself.

"So where are you moving us?" she continued, daring to feel a spark of hope despite herself.

"You'll see when we get there," the Joker told her. "Now, I had someone else do the unpleasant job of getting new clothes for you, since we can't have you going out looking like _that_ , so it's not my fault if it's not up to, uh, your usual standards of _fashion_." He threw a mess of clothes at Jeannie and Lily. "You have five minutes," he told them before striding out of the room.

Jeannie wasted no time in putting Lily down and sorting through the outfits he'd given them. There was a pink dress for Lily—no use, she thought, since she would undoubtedly tear it up within the first minute of wearing it trying to do a gymnastics move—and a pair of jeans and a sweater for her. Jeannie quickly changed into her new outfit and helped Lily change into hers, hoping that they would get some new clothes once they got to their new place.

The Joker came in exactly five minutes later. "All right, let's _go_ ," he urged, seeming unusually hurried. Jeannie didn't argue with him as she grabbed Lily's hand and led her downstairs. Her head still hurt horribly, but she was determined not to show any more signs of weakness in front of the Joker, or scare Lily any more than she already was.

The sun was shining brightly outside, and Jeannie had to squint against the light. The Joker immediately grabbed her arm, dragging her over to the car again. She half-heartedly tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp. "Maybe when I know you won't try to escape I'll put a little more _trust_ in you, hmmm?" the Joker mocked her.

Jeannie refused to answer as she climbed into the car, keeping Lily in her lap. As they sped off at a hundred miles at an hour, she almost laughed at the oddity of the situation. If the Joker wasn't wearing his facepaint and driving so erratically an outsider might think he was drunk, they would look like a normal family driving off somewhere.

They had just turned onto the highway when a huge explosion sounded from behind them. Jeannie whirled around and gasped as the warehouse was turned into an enormous fireball, engulfing the buildings next to it as well. Lily screamed and the Joker laughed hysterically, slapping his hands against the steering wheel. The car swerved sharply to the right at the loss of control and they nearly drove onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing an elderly couple walking out of a store.

"Isn't it _beautiful_?" the Joker asked, grinning widely.

"Why did you blow it up?" Jeannie demanded. "Now the police will know you hid us there!"

"Of course they will, tiger," the Joker said. "But they'll believe that you two were still in there. They wouldn't put it past me to kill ya."

"I'm sure they won't."

But Jeannie felt as if he was, sadly, correct. If the police believed she was dead, the search for them would end. She supposed that Liam or her mother had contacted the police and asked them to search for her. Liam, at least, knew who the Joker was.

With a small intake of breath, she wondered if he had told the police everything about their relationship—who she was, when they had gotten married... Would the Joker go after _him_ now for revealing that secret?

When the car finally squealed to a stop, she saw that they were in the heart of the Narrows again, not far from where Jeannie and Jack's old apartment had been (which, she saw, was still a smoldering pile of ashes). The sign around the old apartment building, which had, if she remembered correctly, been built in the nineteen-sixties when there was a population explosion in the city.

Lily hopped out of the car first but held tightly onto Jeannie's hand as they walked up to the apartment block. Jeannie glanced around them, looking for a possible escape route, but there was nobody else around. The Joker turned, and, correctly guessing her thoughts, patted his pocket, where she was sure a gun was hidden. Jeannie didn't know if he would actually shoot them when it came down to it, but she wasn't about to provoke him.

The lobby of the building looked the worse for wear, with mold growing on the walls and water dripping from the ceiling. Jeannie had the unnerving sense they were in a horror movie as they began to climb the stairs, rather than taking the broken-down elevator.

"How far up are you taking us?" she asked.

"The top," the Joker replied, his long legs moving up the steps with ease.

"Well, where do your henchmen sleep?"

"Anywhere, as long as it's not here." He seemed distracted, not glancing back at them.

Halfway through the climb, Lily became tired, so Jeannie was forced to carry her. Her legs now ached twice as much, and she was still woozy and exhausted from her alcoholic binge the previous night. But she refused to collapse; she wouldn't give the Joker the satisfaction of seeing her give up.

She was panting and out of breath by the time they mercifully reached the top. The Joker kicked open the door—Jeannie didn't have time to see the apartment number—and all but shoved them inside.

It opened up into a small living area, but of course there was no furniture. Random objects littered the ground—knives, scissors, nails, even a dusty analog television—and heavy drapes covered what Jeannie assumed was the door leading to the balcony. She took a step into the small adjoining kitchen—at least there was a microwave and oven. The building must still, miraculously, have electricity.

"Home sweet _home_ ," the Joker declared sarcastically. He walked past them and threw open the drapes, which looked out onto the Narrows below—facing Arkham Asylum. Across the river, the skyline stretched out into the distance.

Lily, ever the inquisitive one, had already let go of Jeannie's hand and begun to explore the apartment. Turning her back on the Joker for a brief moment, Jeannie followed her into the small bathroom on the other side of the kitchen. Out of curiosity, she turned the handle on the sink. There was a full ten seconds before she heard a loud screeching noise and a trickle of brown water poured out of the tap.

Lily grabbed her hand, dragging her back out of the room and into the third room adjacent that Jeannie assumed was a bedroom. This room, however, was completely empty.

When nothing there caught her interest, Lily headed to the last unexplored room in the apartment, but the Joker was standing in front of the door before Jeannie even had time to blink, blocking her path. "Is that your room?" she asked.

"Yes, it is," he said. "And if you want to keep your eyes, you will not go in there. Understood?"

Lily nodded, but Jeannie noticed that there was a bit more defiance in her eyes when she looked at the Joker; a bit more of a pout, as if she had finally realized that he technically had as much claim on her as Jeannie did, and that she could stand up to him because he hadn't seriously hurt her yet, "yet" being the key word.

"So where are we going to sleep?" Jeannie asked.

"In the other room, _obviously_."

"But there's no bed!" Lily complained.

"Did that, uh, stop you last time?" He grinned widely before walking to the front door and striding out without any warning.

Of course, the second he was gone, Lily tried to open his room door, but it was firmly locked. Jeannie had to admit, she was curious about what he was hiding in there, but she valued her limbs too much to try and open it.

The Joker had locked the front door, and Jeannie decided they could, at least, survive in the new apartment for the time being. At least they could get some fresh air on the balcony—but there was no possible way to jump out without killing themselves. The Joker had chosen this place well.

After fiddling with the television for a while, she managed to change the fuzzy screen to one of Lily's favourite shows. While her daughter squealed and eagerly sat down to watch it, Jeannie went out to stand on the balcony and look out at the city below, thinking.

Jack Napier was the Joker—or, rather, the Joker _was_ Jack Napier. Had there ever been a difference? If someone had asked her thirteen-year-old self before she'd gotten to know him if the quiet, scarred, angry-looking boy had would grow up to be one of the most notorious mass murderers in American history—in _world_ history—would she have found it plausible?

Yes. She would have.

So why was she so disappointed?

* * *

Commissioner James Gordon stood on the rooftop of the police station, waiting for Batman to show up. The Dark Knight had stayed in the shadows—literally—since Harvey Dent's death and his subsequent exile from the city, and though his colleagues were beginning to suspect that he was still in contact with the vigilante, he refused to ignore the one person whom he truly trusted.

He expertly hid his relief when Batman made his sudden appearance, stopping in front of him as if he had been waiting there all along. "The Joker's got a woman and child locked up somewhere," Gordon said immediately. "The woman's mother is in Gotham looking for her, and an abandoned factory down by the river blew up this morning."

"I know the story," Batman told him. "They're not dead."

"So you know where they are?" Gordon tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"I'm looking after it right now," said the vigilante. "Keep your attention on the Riddler. I'll take care of the Joker."

"But we have a specialized team of men searching for them," said Gordon. "The lead detective, Oliver Hammet, has found some clues—"

"I know what I'm doing," Batman said firmly. After another moment of protest, Gordon finally nodded.

"We stopped the Riddler from blowing up a mall today," he continued, rubbing his mustache tiredly. "His clues are difficult, but not impossible. Sooner or later we'll get him back in Arkham."

"Or the Joker will get him," Batman said darkly. "He doesn't like sharing the city."

Gordon chuckled in spite of himself. "The Joker thinks he _owns_ the city."

"It belongs to him just as much as us," Batman said gruffly.

Gordon looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone has a past, Commissioner," Batman replied.

"Does this have something to do with the woman and child he abducted?" Gordon asked, but the Dark Knight had already vanished.


	16. November 2007: Familiarity

The first week of their stay in the apartment seemed to fly by, much to Jeannie's astonishment. Their time in the warehouse had seemed never-ending, and every minute had felt like an hour. But now, Jeannie found the time was passing much more quickly. Perhaps it was because she could now go outside, even it was just to stand on the balcony. Lily was mostly content with the television, and although the apartment was smaller than the warehouse had been, she felt more comfortable in it. It certainly wasn't a home, but then again, _anything_ was better than the place where they had spent the last month.

The Joker visited more often than he had before; often spending several hours in the apartment instead of minutes. Jeannie wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad thing—funnily enough, he seemed to be in a cheerful mood, and hadn't slapped her or yelled at them again. Still, whenever Jeannie or Lily flinched away from him, he just laughed at their terror, saying that they had no reason to be afraid. "I'm not a monster," he said. "I don't hurt you just because it _pleases_ me."

Of course, Jeannie was inclined to believe otherwise. After seeing the look on his face when he had first confronted her in the hotel room, she found it difficult to believe he was anything more than a cruel, murdering psychopath.

She still had no idea what his real purpose was for keeping them alive—surely it took effort to get them food and make sure they weren't causing any trouble, when he could instead be out terrorizing Gotham or taunting Batman? It didn't make sense.

During a cold autumn evening exactly a week since they'd been at the apartment, Lily was watching television (about the only thing she _could_ do in the limited space) and Jeannie was sitting on the kitchen counter, staring out at the rapidly darkening sky. The lights in the buildings across the river were being switched on, and if she unfocused her eyes they all turned into one yellow mass, illuminating her entire field of vision.

But her head quickly jerked in the direction of the door when she heard the click of the lock. The Joker was never audible until he was right at the door; that, at least, hadn't changed. Jeannie remembered Jack had always had very quiet footsteps—he often liked to scare her by standing behind her and waiting to see how long it took for her to scream.

Jeannie beckoned for Lily to turn off the television and run into her room. Lily had taken to shutting herself in their bedroom every time the Joker arrived; he didn't seem too bothered by the fact, and rarely asked after her. Jeannie knew that her daughter was puzzled by him; on one hand, she had seen his cruelty firsthand, but on the other, he hadn't done anything to either her or Jeannie…she must also be trying to reconcile the Joker with the father she had heard about for five years. Jeannie could only hope that she would understand when she was older.

Just as Lily disappeared into her room, the door swung open and the Joker stepped in, easily shutting the door with his foot. "Getting comfortable, are we?" he mocked, his eyes raking over her casual pose.

Jeannie tried to swallow her fear and look halfway nonchalant, which was easier said than done. Even after knowing him for thirteen years, her fright didn't disappear when he was in the room.

"It's nice to see you're, ah, getting more _confident_ ," the Joker said. He shrugged off his coat and threw it over the back of the chair before walking over to her, placing both hands on either side of the counter so she couldn't escape and, to Jeannie's disbelief, resting his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, hating the way her heart still sped up when he was near, as if it could still somehow sense Jack under all the facepaint.

They still hadn't slept together since that night at the hotel—if that could even be counting as "sleeping together", since the Joker had left as soon as he'd gotten what he'd wanted from her. Similarly, their kisses since then had only been a display of dominance from him, and there had been nothing gentle or tender in them.

Admittedly, Jack was never one for being tender or gentle, either, but at least he would hold her hand while they were walking down the street or wrap his arm around her waist. Sometimes he would just twirl his hands around her hair and whisper in her ear. She couldn't imagine the Joker doing any of that.

But somehow, this particular time, she couldn't stop thinking of Jack in the way the Joker's curls fell around his face, and how she could recognize Jack's eyes, but they were cruelly warped and distorted by the makeup. Before she could stop herself, Jeannie felt tears burning in her eyes. She tried furiously to blink them away, but that only seemed to make more start spilling over.

"What's the matter?" the Joker whispered, and Jeannie stared up at him, shocked. His voice was lower, huskier—not the nasally drawl of the voice she usually heard. Now he sounded different…almost like Jack.

"I wish it didn't turn out like this," Jeannie whispered. She was sobbing now, unable to hide her tears any longer. She tried to lift up one hand to wipe her face, but the Joker's hand closed over hers to prevent any movement. Her knee was pressed into his stomach—she could probably kick him away, but she didn't want to. "We could have been happy—bef… _before_. I don't want this. I can't do this any longer." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she closed her eyes, not being able to stand looking at him.

But he said, "Look at me, Jeannie." Obediently, she did—and saw not Jack, not the Joker, but some twisted mesh of the two—and it was the first time she had really _connected_ the two. They were the same person, she saw that now—the Joker persona wasn't a persona at all. He was Jack, and there was no separating the two, not anymore.

"There's no going back," the Joker almost growled at her, his dark eyes narrowed into slits. He seemed about to shake her. "Everything is too far gone now."

"So?" Jeannie shot back, her voice wobbling. "I loved you—God, I _still_ love you. I would have done anything for you. I just want my husband back. But he's _gone_. I don't want to live like this. I want to die. Stop torturing me by keeping me here."

She began to writhe in the Joker's grip, but he continued to hold her firmly. "He's not _gone_ ," he replied. " _You're_ the one who disappeared, tiger. _You_ left Gotham, not me."

"Because I thought you were dead!" Jeannie shrieked, and then, in a lower tone of voice so Lily couldn't hear, she continued, "I would never have left if I knew you were still alive. I couldn't stand being in the city if you weren't in it."

"So you didn't even think to check on me?" the Joker asked acerbically.

"No, God, I was pregnant. We have a daughter now—"

"I've noticed," he said cuttingly. "Who you refuse to let near me."

"That's hardly a surprise!" Jeannie cried. "You're a sadistic, mass-murdering psychopath!"

"And I wasn't before?" the Joker snarled. "People are only making a big fuss because I'm… _obvious_ about it now."

Jeannie sighed, and all the fight went out of her. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine, _Joker_ ," she said. "You win. I don't know what you want with us or why we're still alive, but you can do what you want. I don't care anymore."

"Yes, you do," he said, and the words were almost soft—it was the same tone of voice he'd used when he'd been speaking to Batman. Jeannie's eyes darted up to meet his, and they almost looked sincere.

Normally, she would have realized that he was manipulating her, but at the time she wasn't thinking straight, and so instead of pushing him away, she leaned forward to kiss him. The Joker instantly responded, digging his hands in her hair. Jeannie wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed every part of his face she could reach, ignoring the sour taste of his facepaint.

But when the Joker reached for her shirt, Jeannie managed to pull away. "I don't want to do this now," she whispered. "Not with you looking like that."

She expected him to ignore her and continue anyway, but surprisingly he dropped his hands. "What _do_ you want, then?" he nearly growled.

Jeannie swallowed nervously before speaking in what she hoped sounded like a brave tone of voice. "I want to be able to call you Jack and not be punished for it. I want you to kiss me like you used to. I want _everything_ to be the way it used to be, but like you said, that's not possible now."

The Joker made a disappointed noise and stepped back from her. Instantly, his walls were up again and he snapped his gloves back on. "People change, _Jean_ -nie," he told her. "If you were really still in love with me, you would accept me as I am _now_."

"I don't have to accept that you've turned into your father!" she snapped. "Tell me, _Joker_ , does this situation seem familiar to you? Or have you even done it on purpose?"

She expected him to snarl at her, to slap her until she was barely conscious, but instead she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "And _you_ promised you would stick with me forever," he said. "Looks like you turned into what _you_ said you wouldn't, hmmm?"

"I—I didn't!" Jeannie protested, but she knew he was telling the truth.

The Joker grinned, knowing he'd won, and replied, "Also, I'm not keeping ya here. You're free to leave anytime you want, provided you can get out. However, I'm always going to find you again, and I find it much less time-consuming if I always had you here, ya know? Besides, I'm bringing you _good_ food, and I don't beat you up for no reason."

"If you just need me, then why is Lily still alive?"

"Because you would go crazy if she, ah, died—and although that _does_ sound appealing, I need you to be compliant." He crossed his arms and smirked at her, giving a little shrug. "So, you see, I'm _not_ him, Jeannie. But if you continue these silly comparisons, I might not be so patient next time."

She gave a quick nod before deciding to change the subject. "And what do you mean by you bring us good food? I don't think a piece of bread and a glass of water counts as—"

"But you haven't seen what I brought _tonight_." With a flourish, he went over to his coat and dug through the pockets until he came out with a fast-food carton. Jeannie's mouth started watering as soon as she saw the grease lining the container and the smell of fries wafting to her nose.

She supposed the Joker must have sent one of his men to get it, since she highly doubted he would set foot in a restaurant. "Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?" she asked suspiciously.

The Joker laughed at her expression. "Can't a guy be nice to his wife?" he asked her. "Listen, _Jean_ -nie, I only kept you in that warehouse because I knew you still had hope of escaping. Now, when you don't have hope you're gonna get out of this alive, I can leave in in here because I know you're not going to try anything."

"Are you sure about that?" Jeannie snarled. She jumped off the counter and leapt toward him, but he easily caught her arms and pushed them behind her back, pinning her against the wall with his body.

"You wouldn't escape," the Joker whispered. "You still _love_ me, remember?"

Jeannie's hands curled into fists in anger. "Don't mock me!" she cried shrilly, and kicked him in the shin.

He reeled back, half-laughing, half-growling in rage, and whatever flicker of Jack that had emerged during their talk vanished—now he was just the Joker. "But you're all too easy to mock, _tiger_ ," he spat, and abruptly left the kitchen. Still shaking in anger, Jeannie followed him to where he threw open the door where she and Lily had been sharing a blanket during the nights. "It's time for dinner, kid," he announced, clearly relishing in Lily's panic. "You would have gotten dessert, but your mother refused to cooperate, so you can thank her for _that_."

"Dessert?" Lily asked, as if it was a foreign word. Her gaze traveled to Jeannie, and she could already feel guilt forming in her stomach, although she knew it really _wasn't_ her fault and the Joker had never been planning on giving them dessert. He was just playing another one of his mind games, and this time she was the victim.

But at least she _had_ learned that Jack was still in there somewhere, and she wasn't sure what she should feel about that.

* * *

Oliver Hammet's footsteps crunched on the gravel of the rooftop of the MCU as he paced back and forth across the building. He squinted against the blinding light of the Bat signal, hoping Batman would decide to show up. Gordon had offered to come with him, but Oliver had declined: he wanted to speak to the vigilante alone.

There was a quiet whooshing noise from behind him and he turned to see an imposing dark figure emerge out of the shadows. "Gordon said you wanted to speak to me," Batman said, his voice harsh.

Oliver took a deep breath and nodded. When he'd first heard of Gotham's protector being a man in a giant bat suit, he'd laughed so hard he'd nearly choked. But the papers had failed to mention how intimidating he was face-to-face. "I…I think you know that I've been trying to find the woman the Joker has supposedly abducted," he began.

"Jennifer Napier," Batman growled.

Stunned that he knew her name, Oliver nodded. "Yes. I, well, I haven't gotten any more leads on her, but I just wanted to tell you that I know her personally. She was my best friend when we were growing up in Chicago, but she moved away when we were thirteen and we lost touch after that. She eventually married a man named Jack Napier, and I joined the mob in Chicago when I was twenty. They transferred me over to Gotham, where Jack worked as a hitman. He was brilliant at chemistry, and the mob wanted him to make a toxin they could use on the Narrows. But he refused to make it because his wife lived there, so the mob sent me to kill her. I couldn't do it, and I told her to escape back to Chicago. I was so guilt-ridden that I faked my death as well and became a police officer in Miami. When I heard about the Joker, I came back to Gotham and realized that he…he was Jack, and now he's abducted Jeannie and their daughter."

"This toxin the mob was trying to make," Batman interrupted. "It's Crane's fear toxin, isn't it?"

Oliver nodded. "They obviously got the formula right even without Jack's help, but I know Crane still has gallons of the stuff. I'm worried that while everyone's concentrating on the Riddler and the Joker, he'll find a way to break out of Arkham and try to use it on the Narrows again."

"I'll see what I can do about that," Batman replied. "Are you sure you don't know where the Joker would have taken his wife and child?"

Oliver shook his head. "I'm going to continue looking. But you have to understand…back when he was _normal_ , he loved her. He was _crying_ when I told him about her supposed death. He was so protective of her too…he was still a monster then, but nowhere near like what he is now. I don't know if Jeannie is safe with him anymore because he's changed so much. I just…I just want to make sure she's all right."

"Tell me if you get any leads. I'll be searching as well," Batman said. "And Oliver? Thank you."

Oliver nodded and wiped his hand with his forehead. In the time it took for him to lower it, Batman had disappeared. He straightened up and headed back inside the police station, ready for another long night of work.


	17. December 2007: Faded

**One Month Later**

**December 2007**

The Joker didn't come back.

Every night, Jeannie would wait for the telltale sound of the key in the lock—but the weeks passed, and it never did. He had left them a stack of food by the door before he'd left the previous time, and although they still had some left, their supply was quickly dwindling out. She hated being under his utmost control like this, especially since it was probably her fault he hadn't come back: after what had happened between them the previous time it would be just like him to declare that if she had been cooperative, they would be in a much happier state.

Although the apartment was slightly warmer than the warehouse, it still had no heating and a cold draft constantly blew in from under the balcony window. They only had one blanket between them, which was by now dusty and filthy. Lily had caught a cold so Jeannie had given her the blanket, thus leaving her to fend for herself. The bathroom, she'd found, was the warmest place in the apartment, and although it hurt her neck in the morning she'd taken to sleeping in the bathtub, as disgusting as it was. At least they had water, and she could take warm baths and showers when she wanted to, despite having to wait for the water to turn warm before she could use it.

Lily had finally had enough of the television—and a year ago Jeannie wouldn't have believed such a thing was possible. Now she was turning into the miserable creature she had been in the warehouse, and on top of that she was ill as well. If they got out of this alive, Jeannie was sure she would need therapy. She couldn't believe she had dragged her daughter into this. She was a horrible parent.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, listening to Lily cough pathetically in the next room and resting her sore neck against the edge of the bathtub. What had she been doing a year ago today? She'd been decorating the Christmas tree with Lily in their small suburban house, excited about going to Liam's house the next day.

Liam had been the father to Lily that she'd never had—despite having three children himself, he'd always taken time to spend with Lily—carrying her on his shoulders when she was a toddler, or chasing her around the garden; teaching her how to ride a bicycle and climb a tree…when Jeannie had been training to become a teacher, Lily had spent the days with Liam and Susan instead of going to preschool. She'd been so close with her cousins, and Jeannie had to admit she missed her nephews and nieces as well. She wondered how Mrs. Kerr was doing; if she had recovered from her operation yet.

But the topic of her family was too painful to think about, so her mind wandered to her condition. How would everyone else have fared in this situation? How did Jack's mother fare when she'd been in this situation? Jeannie wondered what her mother-in-law had been like: she'd have to be very brave to both stand up to Paul Napier and to take care of her son, to try to raise him as normally as possible. What had Jack thought of her? Jeannie had rarely spoken to Jack about his past, even when they were married…it was a topic that he never liked to broach. She could understand that, but still, he'd known everything about _her_. What was wrong about knowing his past? Now she would never find out. He told as many origin stories as he did lies. If Mr. Kerr himself hadn't known after searching the records for years, Jeannie figured that the information would never be unearthed. Either Paul had done it to his son, or Jack had carved them himself at a very young age.

Whatever the reason, Jack was a tragic character.

Conceived into a loveless union, he had been forced into captivity from the moment he was born. He had never gotten a chance to be normal. When he was very young, he'd had to witness something that no child should ever have to witness. With a sickening roll of her stomach, Jeannie realized that Lily was the same age as Jack was when he'd seen his mother killed. He'd had to live on his own all his life, sustain his father's beatings…he had been involved with the mob and had killed hundreds of people even before he'd become the Joker. She had been his only tie to normality, and that tie had been severed within three years of their marriage.

He had never been destined to live a normal life. Even if he had never gotten involved with the mob, something would have happened to tear him and Jeannie apart, perhaps for good. Fate—Destiny—Jeannie didn't want to call it God, since she had stopped believing in a deity long ago—had chosen Jack to be one of those that suffered. Perhaps in order for the majority of people to live normal lives, certain people had to stagger under the weight of suffering. They had to carry the burden that, for whatever reason, wasn't distributed evenly. How could rich playboys like Bruce Wayne drink and dance the night away while people like Jack had been born into pain, could never fully escape its shackles no matter how hard he tried?

Jeannie was beginning to understand it. She was beginning to see what an awful—dare she call it a _joke_?—the world was. The Joker understood it. Batman understood it as well, she was sure. But Batman tried to fight against it. He was trying to create some sense of meaning, trying to prove that humans were naturally good and that everything had a purpose.

The Joker had given up on that idea. He was what happened when someone never entertained that idea at all. If Batman finally gave up on his pointless crusade, what would happen to him? Perhaps he would turn into something even worse that the Joker. Realizing that everything you had ever believed and fought for was wrong had to be even more psychologically damaging than never believing those things at all.

And Jeannie finally knew the depth of their relationship. They were two sides of the same coin, polar opposites, light and dark, black and white…they would dance until the end of time—the unstoppable force trying its hardest to break the immovable object. But what would happen if Batman _broke_? That was impossible…and yet—could the Joker be trying to stop him from doing that? He was the most dangerously intelligent person Jeannie had ever met. He knew that Gotham, perhaps the entire _world_ would go to pieces if Batman, the most stalwart person who had probably ever existed, finally gave up on the world. He saved the world because it needed saving. Batman was _necessary_ to stop the rest of the world from becoming like the Joker, to show them that there was a good to balance out the evil. But…what if the Joker was the one with the truth, and Batman was fighting in vain? The Joker believed that if humanity accepted his views, they would all be better off for it—no more putting faith in false systems like morality or rules. The universe was pointless, so why try to establish a useless sense of order on Earth?

Jeannie's head cracked against the wall and she screamed into the bathtub, completely dizzy. She had finally seen both Batman and the Joker's side of things, and there was only room for two in that game. She could feel herself falling with every second she spent with the Joker, every time he roughly slapped her around, digging his knife into her skin and tasting her blood. She could feel her mind, like a string stretched to breaking point, begin to unravel. She had to leave, for the sake of her sanity. She would _not_ become his little puppet. She couldn't.

Just as these thoughts entered Jeannie's mind, she heard, unmistakably, the sound of the door opening. Her first thought wasn't of the Joker; it was of some random armed thug or thief trying to find a place to stay.

Jeannie looked wildly around for some sort of weapon; she grabbed the first thing she saw, a long metal rod sitting next to the tub, and jumped out, holding it defensively in front of her as she ran out of the room.

But she stopped in shock when she saw a familiar figure clad in a purple coat standing at the door. He had closed it behind him and was leaning heavily against it. Even from her distance, Jeannie could see dark bloodstains on his coat.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asked him, quickly glancing into Lily's room as she passed it. Her daughter appeared to have finally stopped coughing and lapsed into a fitful sleep, clutching the blanket with both hands as if she was imagining holding Thumper. Jeannie surreptitiously closed the door as she walked over to the Joker, who was bent over and appeared to be wheezing.

"Long time, no _see_ ," he said hoarsely. At first, Jeannie thought he had doubled over in laughter, but as she got closer she saw that his hands were pressed over a wound on his side. Blood was leaking out through his fingers and she was sure that if he had been a normal person, he would have been screaming in agony.

"What happened?" Jeannie asked despite herself. The Joker lifted his head up, glinting brown eyes visible through the messy facepaint as he stared at her.

"Gunshot," he grunted. "I just came here for another coat."

"Another _coat?_ " she echoed. "You need the hospital!"

He laughed, quick breaths escaping through his clenched teeth. "As if they'll help me there!" he crowed. "You really are hilarious, _Jean_ -nie."

She was suddenly struck with memories of Jack coming home injured and covered in blood from work. She remembered when he had gotten stabbed the night before their wedding and when he had reopened his scars after they'd once had a fight.

The Joker began to hobble over to his bedroom door, but looked as if he was on the verge of collapsing. "You know," Jeannie said as she followed him, "You said you don't have limits, but it looks as if you, ah, _do_." She tried to mimic his voice and speech pattern at the end, earning herself a glare from him.

"Un- _for_ -tun-nately, I can still bleed," he told her, pushing open the door. Jeannie hovered in front of it anxiously—it would be the first time he'd gone into the room when either of them were conscious, since she suspected he'd often stolen into the apartment when her and Lily had been asleep.

She was just about to ask him if he had some gauze when she heard a dull thump from inside. Jeannie took a deep breath, not sure whether she was worried more about him or herself, before cautiously stepping into his room.

It was completely pitch black, but she thought she could see a dusty light bulb hanging from the ceiling just in front of her. She reached up and curled her fingers around the switch before jerking it downward. The light flicked on, and though it was very dim it was at least more illuminated than it had been before.

It looked as if he had decided to keep the furniture from the previous owners, since Jeannie was sure that he wouldn't buy an elegant, mahogany four-poster bed for himself. Nevertheless, there was one in the middle of the room, with dirty, tangled sheets. The pillows were strewn everywhere across the bed, and she saw a dressing-table piled with random, cluttered objects. A closet door stood open on the other side of the room, and she could see several more pairs of his exact suit, all pressed up and kept exactly clean. She would have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire. A pair of dark curtains hid the window; she doubted the Joker had ever opened them.

But the room wasn't what caught her attention; it was the man himself who occupied it. The Joker had collapsed before he'd even gotten to his bed. Jeannie was suddenly struck with an infinite amount of possibilities: she could search for the key in his coat and let Lily and herself out, letting him bleed to death. They would be safe and Gotham would rejoice, because it would be rid of one less madman. Or she could tell Lily to run and stay behind to help him—no, that wouldn't work, the city was far too dangerous at night to let a child run around, especially in the dead of winter. Her final option was that she could stay and try to aid him, risking his punishment after.

Jeannie stood in the doorway for what felt like hours, pondering. She was torn between the moral decision and what her heart wanted to do. Her brain was screaming at her to _grab the key_ and make a run for it, while her heart was still thudding and remembering how bits of Jack had started to surface when she'd spoken to him the last time she'd seen him; and how even after a month her heart spiked when she saw him again, almost as if it still somehow recognized her husband under all the costumes, both literal and figurative, that he now wore.

She chose her heart.

It didn't come without a price: guilt stabbed at her every step of the way as she walked over to him and slowly turned his body over. He was breathing shallowly, his eyes closed. His gloved hand was still pressed over the wound in his side.

Very carefully, Jeannie grabbed him by the arms and lifted him up onto the bed, her legs shaking from his weight. She feared he would come to again; but he seemed to be weak from loss of blood and what she figured was exhaustion.

When he was lying on the bed, she threw one leg around his so that she was straddling him, keeping him trapped down. She reached into the folds of his coat and searched around until she came out with his switchblade. The handle was still warm and, surprisingly, the blade seemed clean. Jeannie felt almost like a traitor as she gently cut a circle in the shirt around his wound, staunching the blood with the extra fabric.

It appeared as if he had already pulled the bullet out, but whoever had hit him appeared to have done so at very close range. Jeannie wasn't sure if he had managed to get it out in time, or if he might have metal poisoning.

When the flow of blood had slowed, she looked frantically around the room for something to sterilize it with. She knew the Joker would kill her for looking around his things, but she figured that he would rather be alive than dead, so she climbed off of him and crept around the room, going first to the table next to his bed. There were a few random objects there—a pair of scissors and a few pens. Jeannie pulled open the first drawer to reveal a bottle of hand gel; well, at least she was getting closer. She could use it as a last resort.

Pocketing the small bottle, she slid open the next drawer. This one had an assortment of different styles of knives—some pocket knives, some kitchen knives, and others that looked as if they had been invented specifically for torture. Jeannie couldn't help but smirk as she surveyed the neat collection—like the suits, it was obvious the Joker had spent some time organizing the knives. It was something Jack would have found amusing.

But the handles of the knives weren't the only things glittering in the light—something else, something gold, glittered at the bottom of the drawer. Jeannie bit her lip and carefully pushed aside a group of particularly deadly-looking blades to reveal a small object buried at the very bottom of the pile.

She couldn't believe her eyes at first; for a full minute, she stared at what she had found, before reaching out with a shaking hand and lifting it up with a certain reverence.

It was Jack's wedding ring.

Jeannie's own hand still bore her wedding ring; the Joker had never mentioned it, except for perhaps a sneer when she wasn't looking, and she had no intention of taking it off. She would have expected him to have destroyed it long ago; in the interim before they'd met again and when he'd still believed she was dead.

"Oh, Jack," she whispered, and her voice broke. She turned her attention to the figure lying on the bed, and suddenly remembered what she was really there for. Giving his ring one last longing look, she slipped it back under the knives and shut that drawer, looking in the third and last one.

Luckily, she appeared to have hit the jackpot: there were a number of medicines in this one—a roll of gauze, aspirin, a few sleeping pills, and to her amusement a drug for erectile dysfunction. It had to have belonged to the previous owner, since the expiration date was seven years old, but she figured that the Joker would have kept it there for a laugh.

There was a half-used bottle of rubbing alcohol at the very back: Jeannie replaced it with the hand gel and quietly shut the drawer again, standing up and stealing back to where the Joker lay. She pinned him down again, trying not to concentrate on their very compromising position, before opening the bottle and, scrunching her nose up against the strong smell, dabbed some on the fabric and applied it to the wound.

She'd expected him to swear, or at least give some indication of discomfort, but he did nothing as she sat back and let the alcohol do its job. It would have elicited screaming from a normal person, but Jeannie had to admire the Joker's complete indifference to pain, even if he _was_ unconscious.

When she was satisfied that the alcohol had done its job, Jeannie wrapped the gauze around his side. She was no nurse, but she'd treated Jack's wounds enough times to have at least a rough idea of what to do, though she'd never handled a gunshot wound before. She wondered who had been lucky enough to get close to him—certainly not Batman, since he didn't carry a gun—perhaps the police?

When she was done, she pushed herself away from him, hoping that if he slept he would be able to replenish the blood he had lost. She prayed he wouldn't wake up anytime soon.

Now that he appeared to be in a stable condition, she wondered if she should search for the key in his coat and escape with Lily. It was a very appealing idea…but he had told her, way back when she had been in their old apartment with the Garcias, that he would find her no matter what. Who knew how many deaths he would cause along the way? _No,_ Jeannie thought, _I have to stay here. He wants me here for some reason. He'll stop at nothing to get it._

Her eyes roved over his form, from his gloved hands to his coat falling off his shoulders to his face…his makeup had become smeared and tarnished during the night, and parts of it were caking off. Jeannie's heart quickened as she thought about what she could do…he would certainly torture her if he woke up, but she had to see him without it once. She needed to see Jack.

She slowly climbed off him and grabbed the piece of fabric she had used to clean the wound, tiptoeing to the bathroom where she ran cold water over it. She made sure every last drop of blood had swirled down the sink, the porcelain already streaked with years of blood and dirt, before walking back to his room and climbing back on top of him, leaning down so that their faces were inches from each other.

Jeannie held the dripping fabric in front of his face, unsure whether or not to go through with it. But in the end, her curiosity won out, and she lowered it to his face, scrubbing away every trace of makeup that still remained on him.

When she was certain that it was all gone, she slowly raised it from his face, prepared for the worst—and let out an involuntary groan as she took in his features.

He was so _Jack_ it literally tore her apart to look at him. The shape of his eyes, the set of his mouth, the scars…he looked older than what she remembered, of course, but then again she knew that _she_ looked older as well. It was painful, seeing her husband in the flesh again. Jeannie's eyes roved greedily over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

"Jack," she breathed, feeling tears prick at her eyes. His eyes fluttered, and her heart leapt as they slowly focused on her. But they didn't have the wicked sparkle of the Joker—they looked exhausted, tired.

"Followed me in, did ya?" he breathed, his voice faint. "You really got a death wish, do you…tiger?"

"I saved your worthless life," Jeannie hissed, but the Joker only chuckled.

"C'mere," he whispered, and her heart broke right in two. She was surprised he couldn't hear the sound as it snapped in half for good. She knew he was in a disoriented state and that she was, by all accounts, taking advantage of him, but she couldn't resist.

So Jeannie kissed him with everything she had, and in turn he pressed his lips greedily to hers, gasping for breath every time she accidentally pressed against his still-raw wound. She searched for Jack in his actions—seeing if he would twine his hands in her hair like he used to, or give that little moan when she pulled away for a second.

But he never did. There was no _Jack_ in this kiss—there was only pure, raw animal need, and something twisting and sparking with energy, like the Joker himself. If Jeannie had been blindfolded and desensitized to the scars, she might have even guessed she was kissing another man.

There wasn't enough Jack left.

As she came to that realization, her heart broke a little bit more, and she pulled away from him. "It's not enough," she whispered.

He looked confused for once, his hand still holding possessively onto her. "What?" he asked.

"You're not enough," Jeannie whispered, and climbed off the bed. The Joker slowly sat up and stared at her incredulously.

"I, ah, don't _quite_ understand what you mean," he said, although the dangerous light in his eyes suggested that he knew exactly what she meant. He was no longer Jack, but the Joker.

"You'll never be enough," Jeannie repeated, though with less conviction. "I want my husband back, all right? You even said that it's impossible. I don't want to fuck this—this _stranger_! I want the person you used to be."

The Joker sat staring at her for a moment, chest heaving, before throwing his legs off the side of the bed and standing up. He towered over her, not seeming to notice that he was bleeding again through the bandages, and Jeannie shrank back against the wall.

" _Soooo…"_ he began slowly. "You just want one good night for old times' sake, huh? You want to pretend that we're still living in that beaten-down apartment, and you're pregnant while I'm off doing whatever you thought it was that I did, and we don't even know if we're gonna be kicked out on the street? That wasn't such a _fun_ life in my opinion."

"Stop acting like it's my fault I got pregnant," Jeannie nearly yelled. "You're the one who switched the aspirin without telling me—"

"You're the one who chose to _keep_ it," the Joker snarled. He pressed against her, so close Jeannie could feel his blood beginning to seep into her own clothes. "And look what it got ya! A lookalike, sure, but a crying brat who doesn't know what's good for her! I bet it wasn't so fun taking care of a baby, huh?"

"Lily is our daughter," Jeannie hissed. "I don't care what you say. You know she is, and you can't deny it! She has your eyes, she's going to be tall like you, and she's good at getting out of tight situations like her father!"

The Joker gave an unmistakeable growl, like a trapped dog sensing its chance to escape, and lunged at her.

But by some miracle, Jeannie managed to dodge out of the way. She landed flat on her stomach, nearly sliding under the bed. Her hands reached out to break her fall, and landed on a dark object. She pulled it out and saw with some astonishment that she was holding a handgun.

Jeannie straightened up and held the gun in her trembling hands. It was heavier than she expected, and slippery with her nervous sweat. She was no expert on guns, but an idea suddenly popped into her head—stupid though it was—and she turned back to the Joker. Being a policeman's daughter, she knew more than most people about Russian roulette.

"Ah, what exactly do you think you're doing with _that_?" he asked, his expression deceptively quizzical.

"Don't think I won't do it," she began, taking a step back. "I've had enough of this, Jack. I would rather take my own life than have you steal it from me."

The Joker crossed his arms and laughed darkly. "Go ahead, then. Just don't make it too _messy_."

Jeannie held up the gun and, pointing it at the wall, pulled the trigger. There was an immediate bang and she recoiled away from it, the noise momentarily deafening her. The Joker's head snapped to the side as he stared at the spot on the wall where the bullet had hit and then back to her.

"I will do it," she whispered as she turned the gun to her head. "I will—"

Before she could pretend to pull the trigger, the Joker lunged at her, forcing the gun out of her hand. There was another loud bang as it went off for the second time. Jeannie barely had time to process the fact that she'd nearly killed herself before her head cracked against the wall and she slumped down to the ground.

Something else hit her hard across the face and she recoiled back, winded and gasping for air. The Joker was kneeling in front of her, his teeth bared in a snarl and his eyes narrowed into slits. Even without his makeup on, he wasn't Jack, but the Joker. "Why did you do that?" Jeannie slurred, trying to make sense of the mess of objects and shapes currently whirling around in her brain.

"You wouldn't do that," the Joker was muttering to himself. "No, no, _no_. Not when the kid is still around."

 _I could have died,_ Jeannie thought, still stunned. She couldn't believe how irresponsible she'd been. "I didn't know there were…two bullets left," she slurred. "Thought there was…only one."

The Joker made a cluck of agreement before unceremoniously hauling her to her feet, suddenly cheerful again. "That'll teach ya next time," he said. "Now, I appreciate you fixing me up and all, _buuut_ in case ya haven't noticed, I'm fine now, which means that you should get out of my room." She shoved her toward the door, and Jeannie fell against it, her balance not yet completely regained.

"Wait," she said. "Who shot you?"

"Ah, the _Riddler_ ," the Joker replied. "He really got me…but next time he won't be so lucky." He bent over his coat, muttering to himself as he examined it.

Jeannie wasn't one for questioning her reprieves, and she fled back to Lily's room, who had awoken in the recent chaos, and tried to keep her mind blank as she lulled her daughter back to sleep.

* * *

On a rooftop not far from where Jeannie was staying, Edward Nashton stood victorious, still holding the gun he had shot the Joker with. It had taken _months_ for the clown to come to him, and for the first time, he wasn't the one to have fled.

As soon as the Joker had showed up, Edward had immediately called him "Napier". While the clown stood in shock, Edward had shot him at close range, after which he'd stumbled away, clutching his side and laughing hysterically. He would be more than thrilled if the clown was killed, but unfortunately he seemed to have an unnerving way of always coming back.

Now the Riddler was on to his second plan of the night. He was currently standing on the rooftop of the Ritz Hotel—he'd known it had sentimental meanings to Napier. His wife and he had spent several nights there years ago, and now there was another guest there that Edward needed to do business with.

He slipped back on to the fire escape, climbing down past the rows of windows until he came to the one he needed. Using nothing more than a lockpick and a screwdriver, he pulled at the edges of the window until it came loose. He pushed the drapes aside before jumping into the room.

It was in complete darkness, but luckily Edward had a flashlight. He switched it on, being careful not to shine it in the direction of the beds, before creeping over to the one closest to the door. He could see the outline of Jeannie's mother, the psychiatrist Victoria Kerr. He wasn't sure himself why he wanted to kill her, but all he knew was that she was someone he recognized from his past and she needed to be finished at all costs.

He pulled out the same gun he had used to shoot the Joker with, watching her chest rise up and down in even breaths as she slept. He loved this part before a kill the most, knowing his victim was at his complete mercy.

When he grew bored of watching her, he lifted up his other hand and pointed the flashlight directly at her face. It didn't take her long before she woke, throwing a hand over her face. When she saw it was him, she screamed and shot up, trying to defend herself.

Of course, she was no match for him. "What is a four-letter synonym for useless?" he laughed, and pulled the trigger. Mrs. Kerr fell back on to the bed, lifeless, and the Riddler just stood there and smirked.

As intellectually brilliant as Edward was, he wasn't the Joker: he didn't think as clearly and carefully in the heat of the moment. The Joker would have made sure that Mrs. Kerr hadn't hired security guards to keep her protected, and he would have certainly dispatched the guards before he entered the room. Alas, Edward didn't think about either of these points.

While he was still staring down at the body of Mrs. Kerr, relishing in his victory, he barely noticed the two guards burst into the room and kick him down onto the floor, handcuffing his wrists behind his back while a team of police officers swarmed around the bed, barking orders and getting the cars ready.

Edward was sent back to Arkham, but he didn't betray any signs of annoyance. He couldn't _wait_ to see the Joker again.


	18. January 2008: Rage

**January 2008**

Lily Napier had never been one for subtlety. As soon as she could talk, she'd begun questioning and judging the world around her, often giving very opinionated observations on the world that went far past the mere thoughtlessness of children. In this way, she was very much like her father. She wouldn't hesitate to say exactly what she felt, and when she'd been a toddler, she'd often made Jeannie cry because of some offhanded remark or comment she'd blurted out without thinking.

She might have been more like Jeannie in looks, but in personality she tended towards being more similar to Jack. In another life, they would have been best friends. Instead of Liam carrying her on his shoulders and teaching her how to play baseball, it would be Jack. He wouldn't mind her getting dirty—in fact, he would _force_ her to, pushing her almost to her limits until she was nearly crying and couldn't take it anymore, then he would scoop her up and take her for ice-cream, buying her far too much. When he would bring her home, Lily would be exhausted and covered in dirt and sweat, but laughing, ice-cream smeared all over her face. Jeannie would shake her head but smile, and then lean over to kiss Jack. As she got older, he would drive her to gymnastics lessons and watch proudly as she competed in tournaments, admiring the way her long limbs somehow moved in perfect synchronicity and grace, exactly like his. Then, as Lily grew into a teenager, he would pretend to be nonchalant but would really be worried and wait for her to get home from her dates, and intimidate her boyfriends until he was sure they would treat her with the utmost respect. On her wedding day, he would walk her down the aisle and make far too many jokes, because he would be trying to hide his tears. After the reception had ended, he would curl up with Jeannie like they had after countless years, and they would rejoice that they had raised a happy and beautiful daughter together. And then, one day, he and Jeannie would be old and grey-haired, sitting on the porch swing holding hands and watching their grandchildren play in the front yard.

This was the way it was supposed to be. That was the way it would never happen.

Lily had no idea yet what she was missing out on. All she knew was that they were trapped and couldn't leave the house, and she had no idea if she would ever get back home and see her grandmother and cousins again. She hated to see Jeannie cry, and wanted to make her stop, because her mother's sadness, no matter how much she tried to conceal it, made her cry as well. She wanted her father to be back—not the Joker, but the father Jeannie had told her about, who would swoop her up into his arms and make her laugh and laugh until her sides ached and she was rolling on the ground. Lily was too young to understand death, except for a vague notion of what heaven and hell were. Although heaven sounded nice, she knew that she didn't want to go there yet. Not if her mother wasn't with her.

So she stayed close to Jeannie as much as possible, following her around the apartment and sleeping against her side. Like a child, she put blind trust in her mother and relied on her to keep her out of danger. All Lily wanted were for things to go back to normal, for Jeannie to start laughing and smiling again and for them to get out of the city and go back to Chicago. Lily didn't like Gotham—although it looked like Chicago in many respects, it wasn't the same.

She'd been looking forward to Christmas, and was crushed when she didn't get any presents. Jeannie apologized to her the next day, but she told a fairy story to her, so Lily was as satisfied as she could be with that. She liked the apartment more than the warehouse they'd stayed in, and she even got to watch television, so things had gotten better in her opinion. Maybe next, Lily hoped, they'd even be freed.

However, she had no idea what her parents were doing. For the past week, whenever the Joker had shown up to bring them food, Jeannie had locked her in her room and she'd overheard her parents talking. Sometimes she could hear them shouting, but she had no idea what they were saying. Occasionally she would hear her own name, and she would hear words like "Riddler" or Arkham", but she had no idea what they stood for or what they were supposed to mean. Perhaps her mother was trying to find some way to persuade the Joker to let them out of there. She hoped so, and although she was very curious she was afraid of asking her in case the Joker was listening. Lily was terrified of her father, and had she been older, she would be disgusted at the fact that the madman's blood ran through her veins, that she was half _him_. Luckily, the words "mother" and "father" didn't carry much connotation for her. All she knew was that Jeannie had taken care of her since she was born. Of course, she had no idea exactly what part the Joker had played in her conception, but she hoped it wasn't much. It was Jeannie's tummy she had come out of, after all. Perhaps the Joker had had nothing to do with it and a "father" was just something that mothers asked for when taking care of their children became too much to handle. At any rate, Lily sincerely hoped that this was the case.

It was a cold winter day and she was doing her stretches in the corner of the living room, watching Jeannie clean the kitchen after their breakfast. Lily had taken to doing some of her gymnastics moves when she grew bored of watching television; it made her feel like she was back in class again.

"Mommy," she said as she watched the snow swirling around outside, "I want to go outside and make snow angels."

Jeannie sighed and turned around, her lips pursed. "Honey, you know that's not possible now."

"But I _want_ to," Lily complained, her voice escalating into a high-pitched whine. "I don't like living here. I wanna go home. Do something to make him let us out!"

Jeannie's face crumpled and she held out her arms, but Lily stubbornly refused to jump into them. Her lower lip began to wobble as she fought to hold back her tears.

Through her tears, Lily saw that her mother was now crying as well. Part of her felt even worse and wanted to hug her, but the other half wanted Jeannie to feel just as upset as _she_ was. So Lily stood up and fled to her room, slamming the door as hard as she could behind her. Once she was inside, she curled up in the corner tightly, clutching her blanket, sobbing her heart out.

Jeannie wasn't sure how long she stood in the same place, fighting to control her hysteria, before she heard the door open. The Joker stuck his head in first before the rest of his lanky body followed, closing the door sharply behind him.

Jeannie quickly straightened up, not wanting him to see her tears. Showing _any_ weakness in front of the Joker, she'd learned long ago, was a mistake.

"Now, tiger, I hope you're in a good mood," he began earnestly. Jeannie noticed that he didn't shrug off his coat or sprawl out on the chair like he usually did. She looked at him suspiciously, wondering what the cause was for his less-than-normal behaviour—but then again, nothing was _normal_ when it came to the Joker. "Why?" she asked slowly, eyes following his every movement.

"Because I have some _news_ to tell ya," he replied, his tongue audibly running along the inside of his scarred mouth.

This couldn't be good. Jeannie took a deep breath and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before asking, "What news?"

"Your, ah, mother was killed a couple of weeks ago," he said bluntly, pronouncing the words without emotion. "The news just broke out today. Turns out she was in Gotham looking for ya…guess Gotham got to _her_ first." He chuckled darkly.

Jeannie couldn't even find it in her to reprimand him for finding such a situation amusing. Mrs. Kerr had been searching for her. Her mother, her mother, _Mommy_ , dead…it was her fault.

"You did it, didn't you?" she asked him, and was dimly surprised at how calm her voice sounded. "You killed her."

" _Me?_ " the Joker asked, putting on a false air of innocence. "No, _Jean_ -nie, I had nothing to do with it. I had no idea she was even in _town_ , or I would have planned a nice welcome for her."

"Then who did it?" Jeannie demanded. She felt a wave of hatred rise up in her chest and her hands struggled not to turn around and punch the nearest object.

"The Riddler," said the Joker, pronouncing the name with obvious derision. "He's been in Arkham for a _while_ now…funny, you'd think that such a… _brilliant mind_ …would make sure that he wouldn't get caught beforehand."

Jeannie was noticeably shaking now, and she could feel an all-consuming rage begin to engulf her. "Damn him," she said as quietly as she could. "Damn you, Edward Nashton. _Where is he?_ " she spat at the Joker, narrowing her eyes into slits.

"I told you, he's at Arkham," the Joker replied patronizingly. "Don't you _listen?_ "

"I mean _where_ at Arkham?" Jeannie yelled, abandoning all hope of civility. "Bring me to him. I'm going to strangle him with my bare hands!" Before the Joker could respond, she grabbed the nearest object—a kitchen knife—and hurled it at the opposite wall. It made an impact with a loud thunk and stayed lodged in the plaster.

"Good aim," the Joker said offhandedly. Jeannie whirled toward him, irate, but just as she prepared to launch a verbal assault he was behind her in an instant, twisting her hands behind her back so she couldn't turn anything else into a weapon. "Shh-shh-shh," he soothed, his breath tickling her ear.

" _You_ of all people are telling me to calm down?" Jeannie shrieked, near-hysterical. But something about his touch made her heart rate slow, and soon she had stopped struggling against him.

"There's a good tiger," he praised when her breathing had returned to normal, as if she was a trained animal. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she winced at the feel of leather rubbing against her skin. "Now, why is the kid hiding _this_ time?"

"We had an argument," Jeannie mumbled. "She wanted to go outside."

"Ah," the Joker said quietly, a smirk spreading across his harsh features. "Well, I can fix that." After another moment, he let go of Jeannie, but stayed next to her as if he thought she would try to attack him. When she was still, he turned around, satisfied, and made his way over to Lily's room, throwing open the door none too gently.

Of course, she screamed as soon as she saw him, burrowing into the corner in much the same way as she had when she'd first been trapped alone with him.

"Come on, enough of _that_ ," the Joker said. He strode over to her and easily pried the tattered blanket from her grasp, sliding his hand behind her legs so he could lift her up, balancing her with one arm and holding his switchblade with the other. Lily had no choice but to grab hold of his shoulder to keep her balance, her legs dangling around her torso. "Leave me alone!" she half-choked, glaring as threateningly as she could at him.

"Believe me, I would _love_ to," the Joker replied dryly. "Unfortunately, that doesn't look like it's gonna happen anytime soon. Now, your mother tells me that you ran away from her. Is that, ah, is that _true?_ "

Hesitantly, Lily nodded.

"Don't you think that was _rude_? You really hurt her feelings."

The little girl blinked several times, looking ashamed in spite of herself. "I…I did?" she asked.

The Joker nodded. "And what do ya _say_ when you hurt someone's feelings?"

"S—sorry," Lily sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve.

"Very good," the Joker praised. "Now go and tell that to her."

Lily was all too happy to scramble out of his grip and run out of the room, straight to Jeannie. As soon as she reached her mother, she threw her arms around her waist and cried into her shirt, "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Mommy!"

Shocked, Jeannie hesitantly wrapped her arms back around her daughter and looked up at the Joker, who had just exited the room looking very smug. "See?" he asked her. "And you say I wouldn't be a good parent."

So astonished was Jeannie that she just stared at him, unable to even form words. She was still swirling with pain, grief, and anger.

" _So_ ," announced the Joker, clapping his hands together, "Don't just _stand_ there, _Jean_ -nie. Get your coat."

"Why?" she managed to ask.

He grinned widely, his yellow teeth glinting in the dim light. "I finally have a way to make you _useful_."

* * *

Oliver sped down the streets toward the police station, navigating the early-morning traffic jams and yellow lights, holding a bagel with one hand and the steering wheel with the other.

On the seat next to him, his cell phone vibrated and he glanced over at it, debating whether to wait until he was at a red light or violate the law. Finally deciding that he was above the law, he reached over and flipped it open, frowning at the unknown number.

"Hello?" he asked gruffly.

"Good _morning,_ Oliver," came a low, sinister voice.

The car swerved sharply as Oliver nearly hit a lamppost. His heart immediately began to pound as he stared straight ahead, not bothering to pay attention to the traffic anymore. "How did you get my number?" he demanded.

"It's all too _easy_ to get your number," the Joker whispered in his ear. "Felt guilty, did ya? Decided to make it up to yourself by becoming a police officer?"

"What do you want?" Oliver asked, trying not to betray his sickening dread.

"Ya see, I've got a bone to pick with you, Ollie boy. And, uh, you'd _better_ be home when I call on you," the Joker snarled, his voice becoming lower and deeper.

Oliver stared numbly at his hand on the steering wheel, which had turned white and was shaking madly. "You can't do this," he said, though it was more to convince himself than the Joker. "I have Batman on my side—"

"But Batman can't help you if it's during the day, hmmm?" the Joker asked.

Oliver was so terrified he quickly ended the call, but not before he heard the Joker's hysterical laughter. The sound rang in his ears for the rest of the day.


	19. January 2008: Confrontation

"Useful?" Jeannie stuttered, her eyes widening as she stared at the Joker. "For what?"

"Calm _down_ ," he instructed, shaking his head in disappointment. "I think you'll, ah, have _fun_ with this, _Jean_ -nie." Without further explanation, he strode to the door, looking expectantly back at them. "Come on, come on!"

"We're going outside?" Jeannie asked. "But we don't have coats or—"

He rolled his eyes impatiently. "Who cares about _that?_ "

Unable to protest, Jeannie took Lily's hand and mutely walked out of the apartment, blinking in surprise at the sight of new surroundings. It had been over a month since she'd left, and now everything seemed new again, as if she was looking at it with a different set of eyes.

The Joker didn't wait for them as he took the stairs several at a time, twirling his switchblade in his hand and humming an unfamiliar tune to himself. Lily trailed along behind Jeannie, her eyes appearing larger against the sickly hollowness of her face. It accentuated how pale she'd gotten—with the amount of exercise she did, she had always been skinny for her age—skinny and tall, just like Jack, Jeannie thought sadly—but the months of depression and starvation had taken even more of a toll on her. Her cheekbones stood out against her hollow face and her blonde hair hung limp. Even her eyes had lost their sparkle.

The Joker had already disappeared outside by the time they'd reached the lobby. Knowing that there was no use in running, Jeannie took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The snow had picked up, and it seemed almost blizzardlike outside. Jeannie was nearly knocked off her feet by a powerful gust of wind that blew across the parking lot. The freezing air took her breath away and goosebumps immediately rose across her skin. She shivered and Lily let out a small cry as she burrowed farther into Jeannie's side, trying desperately to keep warm.

Where had the Joker gone? Jeannie scanned the area, searching for a flash of purple. She was just about to give up and go back inside the apartment when a car skidded into the parking lot, stopping with a loud squeal in front of them. Jeannie opened the back door and Lily leapt inside before she climbed in after her—she wasn't about to sit in the front seat.

"It's, ah, nice to see you didn't try to _run_ ," the Joker said, slamming on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward with another flurry of snow and pulled onto the road behind, ironically, a police car.

"Where are we going?" Lily whispered to Jeannie.

Of course, the Joker heard her question, and answered with a giggle, "To talk to, uh, an old _friend_ of your mother's."

"What do you mean?" Jeannie demanded. "You killed the only friend I had left in Gotham!"

"Tut, tut, watch your mouth, tiger," the Joker replied, his voice dipping to a dangerous level. "Let's just say I have _business_ to take care of with this person."

All of a sudden, Jeannie understood what he meant. "You're taking us to see the Riddler?" she shrieked. "How are we supposed to get into Arkham?"

"Ah, that's where you two come in," the Joker replied. "The guards won't notice _anything_ if a family comes in to see a patient."

Despite the ridiculousness of the "plan", Jeannie couldn't help but feel a jolt of vindictive pleasure at the thought of facing the Riddler. She knew, logically, that she wouldn't be able to avenge her mother's murder, but the thought of at least spitting in his face was very appealing.

Luckily, the drive to Arkham didn't take very long, so Jeannie didn't have time to become motion sick from the Joker's driving skills (or lack thereof). He pulled to a screeching stop in the parking lot and threw two jackets at them: a purple puffy one for Lily and a black trenchcoat for Jeannie. "Don't ruin them," he instructed. "They're worth more money than you've probably ever seen in your life."

Jeannie didn't feel it wise to add that he'd most likely not even paid for them, so she quickly unbuckled her seatbelt and helped Lily into hers before putting on her own. It fit perfectly, which made her wonder who had bought it. It didn't seem likely that one of his henchmen had known her exact size—or Lily's, for that matter. Then again, she certainly couldn't see the Joker strolling into a store and taking the time to pick out coats for them.

Jeannie had just done up the top button of her coat when her door was swung open. She hadn't seen what the Joker was doing in the front seat, and gasped out loud at his appearance: instead of his purple coat, he was wearing a long dark coat that fell past his knees, and his greasy hair was tucked under a tweed cap. He wore a thick black scarf that wrapped around the entire lower half of his face, hiding his scars. The only thing visible was his shining dark eyes, glinting cruelly at her.

When Lily saw him, she squeaked and hid behind Jeannie's arm. She realized that her daughter must never have seen him without his makeup before, and wondered what he must look like to her.

"Let's go, sweetie," she whispered, pulling her out of the car. She tried not to make eye contact with the Joker as he slammed the door behind them. He must be putting on an act in case anyone happened to be watching.

Her theory was solidified several moments later, when the Joker reached out an arm and pulled her closely against him, as if they were playing a happy family. Jeannie tried her hardest to breathe normally as she held Lily's hand tightly, who thankfully was on her opposite side.

The guard at the front desk noticed them as soon as they walked into the lobby. "Children aren't allowed here," he said at once, looking disinterestedly at Lily. "Sir, you'll need to take off your scarf—" But his words were cut off as the Joker lazily pulled out a gun and shot the guard. Jeannie was by now used to seeing the sight, but she was still appalled that Lily had had to witness it. She gave her daughter a quick kiss on her head, secretly relieved that that he'd fallen behind the desk so no blood had been visible.

Of course, she'd expected other guards to come running, and thankfully managed to block Lily's view as the Joker shot three more guards in quick succession. As soon as the echo of the last gunshot had faded, the Joker grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door that led to the cells. Jeannie had no choice but to follow him, and the three of them ran up several flights of stairs until they got to the door labeled "Maximum Security". Jeannie assumed that the Joker must have done his research on where the Riddler was imprisoned, because he seemed to know where he was going.

Just as they exited the stairwell and emerged out into a whitewashed hallway, Lily began to tire. Jeannie, who knew her arms would get sore within minutes of carrying her, instead motioned for her to leap up onto her back. Lily did so, and wrapped her arms around Jeannie's neck, her head resting on her mother's shoulders.

The Joker had stopped in front of the first cell on the right, pacing back and forth in front of it. Jeannie hovered around behind him, wondering how he would get the door open.

But he pulled out a set of keys seemingly out of nowhere and shook them in front of the door, kicking it open with his foot as was his habit. Jeannie saw the faint outline of Edward Nashton sitting on his bed, and a fresh wave of anger rose up inside her.

"Good morning, _Edward_ ," the Joker said quietly. "I hope you were expecting me."

"No one can ever expect you, Napier," Edward replied.

Jeannie's eyebrows shot up in spite of herself. She wished she could see the Joker's face, but she did hear him laugh and see his shoulders shake. "Ah, _Eddie,"_ he answered, his voice light. "You are just _hilarious_."

"Spit it out. What do you want?" snapped the Riddler, looking irate from what little Jeannie could see of his face.

"You know exactly what I wan _t_ ," the Joker replied, popping the 't' at the end of the sentence. His voice was becoming quieter while the Riddler's grew louder. "We can do this the easy way, or the, ah, the _hard_ way."

"You're going to do it the hard way no matter what I say, so I feel as if I should make things more difficult," Edward mused. "By the way, why did you bring your wife and daughter along? Couldn't bear to go a minute without them? I would guess not, after you thought she was dead for five years…"

The Joker moved so fast Jeannie barely saw it: he had Edward pinned up against the wall in a heartbeat, the other man struggling for breath while the shining blade of a knife pressed against his throat, drawing a small trickle of blood. "Let's, ah, keep my past _out_ of this, shall we?"

"It's rather difficult to do that," Edward gasped, still with a sneer on his face, "When you keep bringing it up! Face it, Napier, you're not the force of chaos that you say you are, or else _they_ —" he jerked his arm toward Jeannie and Lily, "—would be dead! You're still attached to your past!"

This only caused the Joker to twist his knife in deeper, eliciting a hoarse choking from Edward, who wasn't finished his speech yet. "As long as they're still alive, you're just an insane clown! If the police find out about them, you'll be laughed out of the city. After all, you're no longer a force of nature when you still have something tying you down to humanity!"

"Shut up," Jeannie snarled, taking a step inside the cell. "You killed my mother."

The Riddler's gaze turned to her, and she only saw cold amusement in his green eyes, startlingly like Emily's. "It had to be done," he said. "Wouldn't want her finding you and spoiling the Joker's little game, would we?"

"What game?" Jeannie asked, but Edward suddenly slumped over to the side as he fainted—the Joker had pushed the knife in so deeply that he had passed out. While Lily whimpered, the Joker pulled it out and wiped it with a disgusted look onto the bed, kicking Edward's head onto the pillow, where his tongue lolled out pathetically.

Before anyone could speak, a loud, piercing alarm suddenly rang out from above them. The Joker swore under his breath and hurried out of the cell. "Come on, _Jean_ -nie," he snapped at her. "I don't feel like wasting the remaining bullets in here."

Jeannie followed him back down the stairwell the way they had come, half-hoping guards would jump out of nowhere and catch the Joker. But it didn't happen, and they emerged back out into the mid-January air unscathed.

"Well, _that_ was a waste of time," the Joker said as he shoved them back into the car. "I thought he would be an easier nut to crack!"

"What _did_ you want to find out anyway?" Jeannie asked, not expecting an answer, but surprisingly he indulged her.

"Eddie and the Scarecrow are cooking up some sort of _plan_ , and I don't like it," the Joker said, sounding for a moment like a whining child angry at being left out. "Well, I'll figure it out somehow…" He began to mutter to himself, Jeannie occasionally catching words like "knife" or "Batman".

"I don't want to go back!" Lily suddenly cried. "I want to go _home_!"

"That is your home now, kid," the Joker replied, glancing back in the rearview mirror at her. "Better get used to it. _See?_ Children are useless. They cry for no reason," he told Jeannie as Lily burst into tears.

Jeannie had felt a small spark of hope when they had been dragged outside, but now she felt panicky again. It seemed as if they would be stuck in the apartment for the rest of their lives…which didn't look like they would be lasting for too much longer.

* * *

Oliver had called in sick when he got to the police station, turning around to go straight back home. He'd spent the rest of the morning intermittently shaking and vomiting, unsure whether to get on a plane or try to hide. Later, he would wish he'd done the former.

He was watching television with a vacant expression when he had finally had enough, deciding to go up to his room. He threw the remote down and trudged upstairs, glancing back over his shoulder imagining he'd seen a shadow moving up the stairs. Feeling a small measure of relief when nothing happened, he pushed open the door to his bedroom—

And let out a yell of surprise as a purple-clad, makeup-wearing figure lunged at him, smashing him down onto the floor. Oliver punched and kicked every inch of the Joker he could, but the madman was much stronger than he was despite being several inches shorter.

"That's not, ah, how you should welcome a guest into your home," the Joker said, a hint of laughter in his voice.

"You're not a guest!" Oliver shouted, but his retort came out sounding weak and flat. He finally stopped struggling, not wanting to waste any energy on something futile. "What do you want?"

"I'd just like to know a few things," the Joker began. Oliver heard the ominous sound of a switchblade being flipped open. "First, you're on the police department. You must know something about what Edward Nashton and Jonathan Crane are planning."

"You mean you don't?" Oliver asked, and recoiled as the Joker landed a blow to his head. When the world had stopped spinning, he continued, "It's the same plan from five years ago. Crane wants to spread his fear toxin over the city so no one can escape, and the Riddler will be able to do whatever he wants to its citizens…and Batman."

"I see," the Joker mused aloud, suddenly looking gleeful again. The rapidity of his mood change terrified Oliver. "Just what I _expected_ , but it's nice to have it confirmed, wouldn't you agree?"

 _I'm going to die,_ Oliver thought, and to his shock he wasn't scared by that fact. It was as if he had spent the morning trying to accept his death. Well, if the Joker was going to kill him, he might as well destroy the other man as much as he could in the process. "How's Jeannie?" he taunted. "I bet she's having a bit of Stockholm Syndrome now, right?"

"I wouldn't call it _that_ ," the Joker mused. "I'd say she's doing it of her own accord. She's had plenty of chances to leave."

"She would never willingly stay with you," Oliver whispered. "She loves her daughter too much."

"And how do you know _that_?" the Joker asked. "You've never even met the kid."

"Because," Oliver said, feeling a burst of daring, "You don't know her like I do. You've always seen her how _you_ wanted to see her, and not how she actually was."

The Joker snarled, low in his throat, like an angry dog, and twisted his arm even further behind his back. "Well, that brings me to the second point I want to talk about."

"Yeah, you're blaming me for saving her life," Oliver snapped. "If it wasn't for me, _Jack_ , she would actually be dead! You should be thanking me!"

The Joker laughed, his giggles echoing around the room as he threw his head back and tried to catch his breath. " _Thank_ you?" he asked. "Oh, that's a good one!"

"Believe me, she would have died anyway even if it wasn't by the mob's hands," Oliver told him. "Haven't you ever noticed the people who get too close to you tend to end up dead? It's not coincidence. Really, you should also be thanking me for your current situation. What would you be doing now if she hadn't come back? I think you would still be in Arkham because you would have no incentive to break out again. Not with the Batman gone."

Now the Joker's expression was filled with rage. Oliver knew the end was near, and he used his last breath to hiss, "I made you."

Later on, the Joker would muse with some amount of respect that he was the only one of his victims who had never screamed.


	20. January 2008: Succumb

Victoria Kerr's funeral was held exactly a month after her death, at a church in the same neighbourhood in Chicago she had raised her family in. People from all over the country came to mourn her—her patients, her friends, and the few family members she had left. Liam, Susan, David, Joanna, and Fiona were there, as well as Rebecca and George who were still staying in Chicago, and Harriet and Kenneth. The service was quick and respectful. Liam had opted for a closed casket, as the gunshot the Riddler had used was still clearly visible, and no amount of dressing by the funeral parlor would completely hide it.

After the service, the guests drove to the nearby cemetery to lay her to rest. It was a mild winter's day; the sun sparkled on the snow as the group trudged past the rows upon rows of gravestones to the empty hole that stood in the ground.

She would be buried next to her husband, who had already resided there for nearly six years. The guests stood in a solemn group while the pallbearers marched over to the hole, carrying the casket high above their heads. There were several choked sobs as they slowly lowered the casket into the ground, the wood hitting the frozen dirt with a loud thud.

Liam had to look away from the sight so that no one would see the tears that had built up in his eyes. As he squeezed Susan's hand, he caught a glimpse of two unfamiliar girls standing just apart from the main group. He didn't recognize them from the service, and whispered in his wife's ear, "Who are they?"

Susan had no idea either, and his curiosity was piqued. He let go of her hand and walked over to the two girls, who looked nervous at his approach. "Hello," he said, "My name is Liam Kerr. Are you here for the burial?"

"Yes," said the taller of the two girls. They looked identical, with brown hair and large blue eyes, perhaps in their early teens.

"If you don't mind me asking, who are you?" Liam asked.

The twins exchanged a look before the second one replied, "I'm Alice Sharpe and this is my twin, Margaret."

Liam recognized the names at once—they were Harriet's daughters. He was their uncle. "What are you doing here?" he couldn't help but say rudely. "You're legally not allowed to meet your biological families until you turn eighteen—"

"Our adoptive parents heard that our grandmother had died and sent us to Chicago," Margaret, who seemed to be the more outgoing of the two, explained. "We can leave if you want us to—"

"No, that won't be necessary," Liam replied, casting a sideways glance at Harriet, who so far hadn't noticed them. "I assume you know who everyone here is? I'm your uncle, your aunt Rebecca is over there, your… _mother_ …is there, and my children—your cousins—have gone home. They're quite a bit younger than you, so I'm afraid they're very—"

"Hang on," Alice interjected. "I thought we had another aunt?"

"You do," Liam admitted. "Jeannie is my youngest sister, and she has a five-year-old daughter, Lily. But she's not here right now."

"Why not?" Margaret asked bluntly.

Liam sighed and took off his glasses, polishing them on his sleeve before replying, "They're in Gotham City."

" _Gotham_?" both girls echoed. "Why are they there? It's so dangerous now—"

"That's what I tried to tell her," muttered Liam. "But she wouldn't listen to me. Let's just say that we don't know if they're coming back or not." He declined to tell them that they were also related to the Joker by marriage. Nobody deserved to hear that.

The previous day, the police department in Gotham had called him saying that they had officially given up the search for Jeannie and Lily, and they would be pronounced dead. Liam had argued on the phone with them for an hour, trying to get them to listen, but the rule in Gotham was that if a search lasted over three months with no leads, it was abandoned. Of course, this would not have been the case in other cities, but Gotham's high crime rate and low police force contributed to the law. Now it seemed as if the Kerrs would have to deal with not one, but three missing family members.

The only thing left to do now was for someone to go and search for them on their own, but who would actually do it? Harriet would become scared too easily, and Rebecca had been out of commission ever since her accident nearly a decade beforehand. Liam couldn't ask his brothers-in-law to do it, as they both had jobs and wives they needed to take care of, especially George. That only left him, and he felt as if he was betraying Jeannie by refusing to do it. But he had a job, and three young children to raise. If something happened to him, Susan would be left to raise them on their own. No, he couldn't abandon his family…so he was leaving his youngest sister to the mercy of the Joker. It was a conundrum, he knew, that would keep him up at night for the rest of his life.

For some reason, a decades-old memory popped into his mind; the time when he had learned to predict someone's future by the lines on their hand. Of course, nothing had happened the way he'd predicted: Harriet had gotten married, Oliver had never had children, and as far as he knew, Jeannie only had one child. But one thing stuck out in his memory: Jeannie's life line had been very short, almost ending at her heart line. Liam could do nothing more but pray that part would turn out to be false as well.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away in Gotham, Jeannie was thinking about her mother, but of course had no idea that her funeral was taking place at that very moment. She was sitting against the balcony window, resting her head against the cool glass and watching people try to skate on the icy river below. Ironic, how freedom was so close but still not within her grasp.

It had been four days since they had gone to Arkham, and the Joker still had yet to mention what else they were "useful" for. Jeannie knew there had to be _something_ , or else he would have disposed of them, but she just couldn't figure out what. The Joker often liked proclaiming that he didn't have a plan for anything, but she couldn't believe that. He was a liar, and everything he'd done so far had only confirmed the opposite: he did plan everything very carefully, despite what he said otherwise.

She'd also been pondering what the Riddler had said. Was it true that the Joker couldn't let go of his old life and that was why they were still alive? It seemed impossible, and far too sentimental for a man who would happily walk into an elementary school and skin the children alive. What kept him from doing the same to her and Lily? Surely if anyone found out who they really were, the Joker's identity would be discovered.

 _Then again,_ Jeannie thought, _the Riddler knows who he is and_ he _hasn't told anyone. Perhaps he doesn't think it's important._

She sighed and closed her eyes; she was back to square one. The boredom stretched in front of her like a hallway that would never end; in fact, she was almost _wishing_ for the Joker to come back, just so that she could _feel_ something. _He_ was never boring. Sure, she would be fearing for her life, but at least she wasn't bored. Nobody had ever told her how destructive a force that could be.

There was nothing to do.

As if on cue, there was the sound of footsteps across the room and Jeannie turned to see Lily walking toward her. "Mommy, I'm bored," she announced, as if she had read Jeannie's mind. "Tell me a story."

Jeannie reached out her arm and Lily snuggled under it; she was getting too big to sit on her mother's lap anymore. "What kind of story do you want to hear about?" she asked.

"One with a happy ending," Lily mumbled. Jeannie's brain was starved for creativity by that point, and she decided to tell the one that she knew best.

"Once upon a time, there was a lonely girl like you. Her family had just moved to a strange city, and she was all alone. She had left her friends behind at home, and she had no one to talk to. So one day, her daddy told her that she needed to keep an eye on a certain boy—"

"Why?" Lily interrupted.

"…Because he didn't have a very nice family and the girl's daddy wanted to make sure he was all right. So the girl began to talk to him, and her and the boy became friends. He was her only friend in the new city, and they got into lots of trouble together, but neither of them cared. One day, the boy suddenly disappeared, and the girl was heartbroken. She didn't know what had happened to her best friend!

"But she eventually got on with her life, and it was three years before he returned again. They were both ecstatic, and they fell in love and began dating. However, the girl's family didn't like the boy. They thought he was a bad influence on her. But the girl didn't care. She would do anything for him. So one day, against her family's wishes, she married the boy and since they didn't have much money, they moved to a bad part of town. During the first few years, they fought a lot since they were very poor and sometimes the boy was gone for weeks at a time because of his work, but they always managed to make up despite all their fighting. One day, the girl found out she was pregnant, and was overjoyed. One day they would make enough money to move to a better neighborhood where the child wouldn't have to grow up hungry. But, when the woman was six months pregnant, something horrible happened. There was a fire in the apartment building where they lived. She managed to escape just in time, but her husband thought she was dead. Meanwhile, _she_ thought her husband was dead, and moved to a different city because she couldn't stand living in her current one any longer if he wasn't there. So they each went on for their lives for years, not knowing the other was still alive."

"What about the baby?" Lily asked, who had been oddly silent for the latter half of the story.

"…The baby grew up happy, but she—it was a girl—didn't know what she'd been missing out on, that she could be even happier if her father was still around," Jeannie explained. "But one day…the woman found out that her husband was still alive, and traveled back to see him. She brought her daughter along with her too…and her husband was so ecstatic to see them again. He couldn't believe it. And they all lived happily ever after." Jeannie made an effort to smile at Lily when she'd finished, but she knew it came out looking forced.

Her daughter, however, wasn't smiling. "Mommy, is that what happened to you?" she asked.

Hesitantly, Jeannie nodded.

Lily frowned. "But that's not how the story ends!" she cried. "Daddy's not happy to see us, and we're not going to live happily ever after!"

"Well, you said you wanted a happy ending," Jeannie replied, but that didn't console her daughter one bit.

"Why doesn't he love us anymore?" Lily sobbed, and all Jeannie could do was hold her and whisper, "I don't know," but what would really break Lily's heart one day was the knowledge that her father had never loved her at all.

* * *

Eventually Lily cried herself to sleep, and Jeannie carried her back to the bedroom, tucking her under the blanket which she had attempted to wash a few days beforehand. She knew she would gladly give up her freedom—even her _life_ —to ensure that her daughter was safe and would be free from the Joker's grasp forever, but she knew that wasn't going to happen. The Joker knew how much she cared for Lily, and would do whatever he could to break her—to break both of them.

She barely reacted when she heard the front door creak open later that day. She was sitting in front of the television, trying to watch the news. So far, there didn't seem to be anything happening in Gotham. Jeannie was immediately suspicious—what had happened to the Joker wreaking havoc over the city? Batman hadn't been seen in weeks since the Riddler had been put back in Arkham, and she would have guessed that the Joker would be doing everything he could to lure him back out.

The first thing she noticed when he walked in was his heavy footsteps. Usually they were so light that she would barely hear him, but now they were unnaturally loud. Jeannie turned her head toward him, confused.

The Joker was standing very still at the other end of the room, staring over at her. This was suspicious, since he was never motionless for long. Jeannie slowly sat up, her eyes darting over his form.

"It's not polite to stare, _tiger_ ," he said, and his voice was deeper, rougher than usual—but not in a good way. He sounded as if he was struggling to get the words out.

Jeannie couldn't believe her ears. "Are you sick?" she asked, trying to keep the jubilation out of her voice.

"What does it _look_ like?" he growled, and shuffled to his room, moving much slower than usual. He didn't close the door behind him. Jeannie took this as an invitation, and walked over to it, standing in the doorway. The last time she'd seen him ill, she'd been newly pregnant with Lily. She wondered if he had ever gotten sick since then, and if he knew how to handle it. It was probably naïve, but she had always had the notion that the Joker was "above" germs in some way, as if the tainted air itself wouldn't dare to get too close to him.

He was rummaging around in the table, opening and closing drawers as if he was looking for something. Jeannie wondered if he was searching for his wedding ring, and then dismissed that idiotic thought. It was more likely he was looking for the bottle of aspirin she had seen the previous time, but of course she wasn't going to tell him she knew where it was.

"You should get some rest," she said after a minute of silence. The Joker straightened up and shrugged off his coat, tossing it onto the bed. He raised a derisive eyebrow at her.

" _Thanks_ , Doc," he mocked. "I didn't know you had a medical degree."

Jeannie sighed. "I don't need to have one to know that someone needs rest when they're sick."

"So what are you gonna do now?" the Joker taunted. "Try to _assault_ me while I'm sleeping again?"

"No," Jeannie snapped, perhaps a little bit more defensively than she intended. "And I wasn't _assaulting_ you. I was just—"

"Listen, tiger, I know I'm good-looking, but that's no excuse for waking up and seeing you on top of me like that," the Joker explained, sitting down on the bed. "Give a guy some _warning_ next time, will you?"

This annoyed Jeannie so much that she simply turned around and stalked out of the room. The Joker's laughter, quiet though it was, followed her all the way out.

* * *

An hour later, however, she found herself back outside his door. He had elapsed into a coughing fit, and it had sounded so pathetic that she wondered if he was all right. Should she risk going in or not?

Finally, her worry, irrational though it was, got the better of her, and she slowly opened the door.

The Joker was unconscious like he had been the last time she'd walked in, only this time he was on the bed. Jeannie crept over to him and slowly picked up his jacket, making sure he wasn't awake. His breathing was ragged and slow, but at least he had stopped coughing. She couldn't help but put a light finger to his forehead: he was burning up. Yes, he was definitely ill.

Here he was, incapacitated a second time: the first time she'd had her chance when he had passed out after his gunshot wound, and now he was so ill he could barely see straight! If anything, this was the perfect time to escape.

But even after searching his pockets, all she found was knives and lint. There were no keys to be found. Jeannie slumped down on the bed, feeling hopeless again. Of course he had to have done something with them. He must have known that she would come in and try to look for one while he was out of it.

She was just about to quietly leave the room and weep over her fate when a hand reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back. She gasped and threw out her hands on the bed to steady herself and stared down at the Joker. His eyes were open, but they weren't focused, wheeling around as if he was looking for something.

Oh God, was he hallucinating? He must be really sick if he was. Jeannie didn't know what to do, and settled for swallowing nervously.

"Ya know, we really have to have a talk about you always being in here, tiger," he slurred, but his voice was quieter, huskier. His mind was working slower than its usual frantic pace—which probably meant it was working about the speed of an average person, Jeannie figured.

"You're hallucinating," she tried. "I'm not really here."

"Oh, _yes_ you are," the Joker growled. His hands trailed along her waist and stopped at her hips as he jerked her down to him, every line of their bodies pressing together. " _This_ …is real."

Jeannie gulped; her mouth was uncomfortably close to his and she didn't want to risk getting sick herself, but there was something so appealing about his eyes searching her hungrily, as if she was an object he couldn't wait to possess. "What do you want me to do, then?" she whispered.

The Joker managed to grin, despite the pain he must have been in, and pulled Jeannie's head down to him, their lips smashing together. She couldn't help but let out a soft groan, and a giggle bubbled up in his throat. "What you've wanted to do since you've first laid eyes on me," he murmured. "Face it, _Jean_ -nie, you still want me no matter _what_ I look like. That night in the hotel was too short, wouldn't you agree?"

Just like that, Jeannie knew what was going to happen. He reached for the zipper on her sweater and she didn't stop him—in fact, she reached for the buttons on his shirt. Their kisses grew faster and more intimate as their hands explored each other's bodies in a way they hadn't done since before she'd even become pregnant with Lily. It was both achingly familiar and foreign to her. She wouldn't just lie back and let him dominate her this time. She was going to do exactly the same to him.

And this time, Jeannie wasn't going along with it because she wanted to make sure Jack was still in there somewhere, or because she knew it would be pointless to resist him.

She was doing it because she wanted to.

* * *

For once, she didn't fall asleep afterward. Jeannie fully intended to retrieve her clothes and creep back out of the room, pretending it had never happened, but the Joker kept his arm so closely wrapped around her that she couldn't even turn over. Their bodies were still pressed tightly together, and the heat from his fever was beginning to seep into her skin. So Jeannie lay there, unable to sleep, while she watched the unconscious force of nature next to her. His makeup had smeared off, but she had the feeling he wouldn't care about that. After all, she'd seen him without it countless times.

She couldn't bring herself to feel guilty for what she had done. She hadn't started it, anyway—it had been _him_ who had initiated it, even if he hadn't been fully aware at the time. And it _did_ feel satisfying. She felt jubilant in a way she hadn't for years.

She had slept with the Joker twice, and she didn't regret either time. In fact, she almost wished she had been more cooperative that night in the hotel—it would have been better for both of them.

But eventually, Jeannie did drift off to sleep, her head on his chest. When she woke, the Joker had disappeared again, leaving no trace of his presence behind except for a note stuck with a knife to the wall. Feeling horrified, she sat up, dragging her hand through her tangled hair, and read it:

_And you say you can't stand to be near me._

_-J_

No, she had lied to herself. And he'd known it all along.


	21. March 2008: Expecting

**Two Months Later**

**March 2008**

In the wake of Batman's desertion from Gotham, the city had certainly changed.

The masked vigilante hadn't been seen in over two months, and there was nothing anybody could do aside from guessing that he was gone for good. The police were left to run the city on their own—but they weren't the ones who were running it.

The Joker was.

For the past eight weeks, the city had been in absolute mayhem. From the Joker planting explosives in the Ritz Hotel to three hundred people being killed at the airport while trying to flee the city, Gotham was in complete and utter chaos. The citizens had dropped everything and were trying to escape any way they could: some by airplane, others by train, and still others had simply packed up their belongings and left the godforsaken city for good. It wouldn't be long before the entire place was destroyed, they proclaimed.

The president had even sent in fighter jets and urged the people of America to rise up against the madman that was the Joker, but how could they fight someone so unpredictable? The Joker himself had barely been seen, but there was no doubt he was behind all the attacks.

Gotham was beginning to descend into anarchy—just what the Joker's intent had been. Fear was sweeping the streets and the people who hadn't been able to escape when they could hid in their houses.

Those who still dared to venture out into the city tried to get on with their lives as normally as possible. Schools were still in session and the stock market still fluctuated, but there was always an underlying air of menace about the city, and people took whatever excuses they could to leave.

What the citizens didn't know, however, was that the Joker's chaos wasn't solely intended for his own personal pleasure, as it had previously been: no, this time it was for Batman.

Contrary to popular belief, the masked vigilante was still out and about: but it was behind the scenes. He had managed to foil numerous more plots from the Joker, although of course the public didn't know about it. Bruce Wayne was supposed to have disappeared to one of his numerous houses somewhere across the world to get away from the terrorism that was currently unfolding in the city under the Joker's reign, but in reality he was working tirelessly, scarcely sleeping or eating. He spent most of the day working with Commissioner Gordon in a secret office, and patrolling the city by night while attempting not to be seen. But it had been two months, and even Bruce had his limits. He knew he couldn't do everything on his own. No, he needed to see the Joker.

So that was where Bruce found himself, on an unseasonably warm March night, in the middle of the Narrows, hovering next to an old alleyway. According to Lucius Fox, who had helped him stake out the area, the Joker had been lurking around the area for the past couple of weeks. As much as Bruce despised the clown, he knew they finally had to have a talk—at least then he could say that he'd tried everything.

Sure enough, he hadn't been waiting long when his eyes caught the sight of a familiar purple coat just ahead. Bruce crept through the shadows of the alleyway, never taking his eyes off the Joker.

The madman was hunched over as usual, his greasy hair falling around his face. Bruce didn't even have to wait for him to step into the light before he could see the clown's bright facepaint. He looked a menacing figure, walking with such purpose down the darkened street. Even the streetlamps buzzed and flickered off as he passed them.

Bruce tailed the Joker for a while, waiting to see where he would go. Here he was, right in the middle of the Narrows in full costume, and the police hadn't caught him yet! Bruce wasn't sure if this was a rare occurrence for the Joker, or if the police were simply corrupt. Unfortunately, the latter scenario seemed the most likely option.

After ten minutes of tailing him, Bruce finally saw the Joker disappear into an old, rickety building. Not wanting to use the same entrance that he had, Bruce stealthily crept along the edge of the ruin until he came to a window. Gently prying open the ancient glass with his gloves, he leapt inside, the only sound the soft _whoosh_ of his cape.

He landed in a pile of glass, but it wasn't from the window. The entire room was dusty and derelict, covered in spiderwebs and mothballs. Then again, Bruce didn't expect the Joker to care much about what his house looked like.

He silently edged his way through the room until he emerged in a narrow, cramped hallway. Bruce wasn't entirely sure what this place used to be, but judging by the numerous poles that were placed around the area, he assumed it used to be a strip club.

Just ahead, he could see a light that shone through a door that was slightly ajar. Even better, the light switch was in the hallway. Bruce waited until he was right in front of the switch before flicking it down. The room was catapulted into darkness and he leapt inside, his ears already ringing with maniacal laughter.

"I've been waiting for you, Batman," the Joker taunted, and suddenly the light was switched on again. The Joker was standing across the room, appearing even taller than usual with the low ceiling. They appeared to be in some sort of sitting-room, with a couch that was so dirty that Bruce could hardly tell what the original color had been. "Took you, ah, _long enough_."

Bruce lunged at him, but the Joker dodged out of the way, giggling in that high-pitched way of his. "Missed me?" he taunted.

But as strong as the Joker was, he was no match for Batman, and the Dark Knight soon had him pinned down to the ground, growling in anger. "Where is your wife and daughter? I've figured out who you are, _Jack!_ "

"Does it really matter who _anyone_ is?" the Joker laughed. "You, me…it's all in the _past._ Who cares whether I was a doctor or a hitman, or whether you were an ex-soldier who became a _little,_ ah, crazy or a rich billionaire playboy with too much time on his hands?"

Batman growled and increased the pressure on the Joker's throat, but his eyes didn't lose their sparkle. "And as for my, uh, so-called _family_ …well, let's just say I know exactly where they are. By the way, I never did get to tell you how I got these scars."

"And I don't care," Batman snarled before slamming his face into the floor. The Joker continued to laugh, the sound ringing around the room. "Are they still alive?" he demanded.

"You tell _me_ ," the Joker giggled, wiping a spot of blood from his chin. "Since you're such a great _detective_. Oh, come on," he continued, pretending to be exasperated as Batman landed another blow to him, "Can't you take a _joke?_ "

"What happened to them?" Batman growled. He hauled the Joker up by the shoulders as he had that time in the interrogation room, slamming him against the wall. Like the first time, the clown was not at all fazed by Batman's brute strength.

"Oh, I'm sure they're fine," he shrugged, acting nonchalant. "Haven't checked up on them in a while. I'm pretty sure they've got enough food to last them a while, anyway."

"Why are they locked up?"

"Because my darling _wife_ would have found you and demanded revenge by now," the Joker explained. "As it is, however…it turns out she's still got feelings for me." A giggle managed to escape past his throat, which Batman was holding in one hand. "I'm giving her some time to miss me, ya know? Absence makes the heart grow _fonder_ , so she should be absolutely _head over heels_ by now. It makes me wonder who she would choose if it came down to it: me, or the kid."

A dozen different scenarios each popped into Bruce's head: that of the Joker dangling his daughter over the balcony of the apartment and forcing a gun into Jeannie's hand, making her choose which one to save; or that of one of his henchmen holding a gun to her head and telling her to carve up either her husband or her daughter…it was just like something the Joker would do—similar to the ferry "experiment", but on a much smaller scale.

"But enough of _that_ ," the Joker said. "Let's start a less controversial topic, shall we?" When Batman didn't loosen his grip one bit, he let out an exaggerated sigh. "I told ya I've been looking for you for a long time. The people dying—the chaos in the city—it's because of _you!_ If you'd talked to me when I'd called for you, then things would be much different. But you didn't want to see me, so I had to get your attention. It took me two months, but here you are!"

Enraged, Batman slammed the madman's head down on the floor, so hard he was sure the Joker had gotten a concussion. But, as usual, the clown just laughed, although it did admittedly sound like he was trying to force it out. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to let you in on a little secret," the Joker began, suddenly serious. "Listen—a little _bird_ told me that Scarecrow and the Riddler are planning to gang up on us."

"That's impossible," Batman snapped harshly. "They're both in Arkham."

"Apparently that doesn't stop them from planning to kill us," the Joker replied. He had stopped struggling under Batman and was now lying still, his brown eyes burning up into the vigilante's with a peculiar intensity. "I'm just trying to warn ya."

"You don't need to warn me, Joker," Batman hissed. "I'm not concerned about them. What I _am_ concerned about is you."

"That's touching," the Joker laughed. "But I'm, uh, already _taken_." He continued to cackle as Batman heaved him up and dragged him across the room.

"The police are going to love seeing you again," Batman growled as he shoved the madman out of the room and down the hallway.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," the Joker replied. "Ya see, I have… _friends_ who have the street rigged up with explosives, and if they see you dragging me out here, they won't hesitate to pull the trigger."

Batman could do nothing but slam the Joker up against another wall. Of course, it did seem likely that the Joker had indeed done that…but on the other hand, it would be just as plausible for him to be lying. While he deliberated, he let his guard down for a moment—and was sent wheeling backward as the Joker stuck his foot up and kicked Batman, the blades hidden in his shoes piercing the other man's armor. While Batman doubled over, blood already beginning to pour through the Kevlar, the Joker shoved him out of the way and skipped down the hallway, twirling his switchblade in his hand. "I think I'm gonna let you go this time, Batman," he mused, standing half-illuminated in the dark doorway, looking more like a monster than ever. "But consider what I said. I'm just trying to _help_." Before Batman could reply, he had left, leaving Bruce standing there wondering how exactly the clown had beaten him at his own game.

* * *

It was a strange thing, but Jeannie had found that the longer one stayed in a place, and the more comfortable they were with it, the more it began to feel like home. Such was the case with the apartment, which had begun to take on a certain familiar quality after four months of living there. She no longer looked at the rooms with the air of someone who was serving a life sentence, but somewhere that could be cheery if she looked at it the right way.

Perhaps it was just the realization that spring was in the air, but both her and Lily had definitely perked up. Jeannie had even heard her daughter _laugh_ for the first time in months while watching television. The sound filled her with a strange, foreign feeling that had taken her a while to realize was joy. They could go out and sit on the balcony, feeling the warm air on their faces and listen to the birdcalls coming from the park across the street. It was as if the new season brought hope; hope that perhaps they would figure out a way to be freed. Now that the ice had melted off the side of the building, Jeannie was trying to work out how they could possibly jump to the next balcony to escape from the apartment. Of course, it was impossible during the winter—they would surely slip and fall to their deaths, but if she calculated the distance right…

The possibility of escaping coupled with the warming air and more sun lifted up their spirits a considerable amount. Jeannie guessed they had enough food to last them four or five more months if they rationed it the way they did now.

However, one thing she hadn't planned on was the absence of the Joker. After they had spent that night together, he had never returned. Jeannie wasn't surprised by this; in fact, she had almost expected it. Of course, he'd disappeared before and had always come back, but he had never left them for _this_ long. It had been just over two months; eight weeks, or almost sixty days. Jeannie knew what he was doing—oh yes, she heard the news, could even _see_ some of the explosions from the windows. The only thing that kept her hope of escaping from bursting out into full force was the notion that he might one day plant explosives in their apartment, too.

She'd taken to sleeping in the Joker's bed, although she wasn't quite sure why. She'd had a lot of time to think about the mistake she had made by giving in to her impulses for one night. He was a psychopathic murderer now, and nothing could make Jack Napier return. Every time Jeannie thought she had accepted this, she would think of his wedding ring, still tucked away in the bedside table, and her uncertainty would return all over again.

She knew, logically, that she needed to get away from him as quickly as possible and never see his face again, because he only brought destruction and terror. It was selfish of her to have wasted her chances of escape, selfish of her not to try to kill him while he was sleeping…not only was she wasting her own life, but Lily's as well. What would happen if Lily got injured or even killed because of him, and Jeannie spent the rest of her life blaming herself for not taking action sooner?

She was currently curled up in bed, clutching the covers to her chest and listening to the low buzz of the television in the next room. Lily would often sleep next to her, but other times she was content to be in her own room, despite only having a blanket to lie on, because she was afraid that the Joker would come in and torture them for staying in his room. "Mommy, I don't want him to hurt you!" she'd explained, tugging on Jeannie's hand and trying to pull her away, but Jeannie was of the impression the Joker wouldn't come back for a very, very long time, and he would care even less about them sleeping in "his" room, as there was nothing of value in it except for his suits, which were still hung in his closet and which Jeannie hadn't dared to touch.

She had slept for over twelve hours the previous night, but she still felt as exhausted as if she had gotten two hours of sleep. For some strange reason, she had been overly fatigued for the past several days, and she'd often spent the entire day in bed, but no matter how often she slept, she was still tired. Jeannie thought it was unusual, as she'd had fairly regular sleeping patterns her entire life, but she chalked it up to not having exercised properly in a long time. She'd been inactive and lazy for months, and her mother had often lectured her when she was a child that the less she exercised, the more tired she would feel. This appeared to be coming true, and strangely enough she also appeared to be gaining weight instead of losing it like Lily was doing. Her jeans had felt tighter when she'd pulled them on the previous day, and now she was strangely bloated. Could she be coming down with the stomach flu? But that was impossible; there were no outside germs to infect her.

Jeannie rolled over onto her stomach and stared at the bedside table, where she'd taken out Jack's ring and kept it lying there as a reminder. It glinted slightly in the weak light shining through the curtains, and she reached out a hand and held it next to her own ring, which was still almost constantly on her finger.

"Mommy, are you still sleeping?" Lily's voice called from outside the room. Jeannie immediately threw the ring back onto the table and sat up, ignoring the head rush that shot through her.

"No, I'm awake," she said, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as the door creaked open and a blonde head poked in. "What is it? Are you hungry?"

Lily nodded sheepishly, so Jeannie reluctantly threw off the covers and stood up. The head rush hadn't cleared; in fact, it had gotten worse and she had to grip the bedpole to keep her balance.

"What's wrong?" Lily asked, suddenly worried. She ran over to Jeannie and grabbed her hand, as if trying to hold her up.

"Nothing," replied Jeannie, although she was admittedly shaken. Trying to smile through the sudden lightheadedness, she let go of the pole and moved toward the door, fighting the urge to crawl back under the covers and fall asleep again.

While she made Lily a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, her mind kept churning over her mysterious symptoms. _Could_ she have somehow caught the flu? Maybe it was an airborne virus that had gotten into her system when she'd sat out on the balcony. What if she or Lily became seriously ill and they had no medical care?

Jeannie trudged into the main room, where she sat cross-legged in front of the television and began flipping channels. Lily was sitting at the table in the kitchen, her legs swinging happily as she devoured her sandwich. Jeannie was glad to see that her daughter was cheering up; but there was no way she could live a proper life in such a closeted environment. Some way or another, she needed to get out of there.

Since there was nothing on, she settled for the news. After the broadcaster had announced that the police were still no closer to finding the Joker, although a fire in a retirement home was suspected to be an arson that was linked to him, she quickly skipped stories, much to Jeannie's relief.

"…A woman living in the Narrows was forced to give birth to twins late yesterday evening after her husband deemed it 'too dangerous' outside for them to go to the hospital. The woman, who declined to be named or interviewed, is allegedly twenty-four years old and she and her husband are too poor to move somewhere else. However, her husband told GCN in an exclusive statement that she and the babies are doing fine…"

Jeannie felt a pang of sympathy for the poor woman. At least nothing had gone wrong and the babies were healthy. She couldn't help but feel relieved that _she_ hadn't been in that position; taking care of twin infants would surely be more difficult than taking care of a five-year-old.

And that was when it hit her.

Jeannie froze as the signs suddenly fell into place. As she stared openmouthed at the screen, the news anchor continued talking coolly, as if she hadn't been the catalyst for Jeannie's realization.

She was feeling tired for no apparent reason, her dizziness and shakiness had seemingly no cause, and she had gained weight when she should, by all accounts, be _losing_ it.

Her mind seemed to be stuck on a slower gear as Jeannie tried to do the math in her head: her night with the Joker had occurred two months beforehand, so if she was… _pregnant_ …the symptoms would be due to appear any time.

She hadn't gotten pregnant when they'd slept together at the hotel back in October, so Jeannie must have unconsciously dismissed the possibility that it could happen when they'd done it a second time.

 _But,_ part of Jeannie's brain tried to say, _You haven't had morning sickness or mood swings. Maybe it_ is _just the flu…_

She knew, however, that pregnancies could be very different affairs. Mrs. Kerr had used to say that she'd had a horrible time when she was pregnant with Liam and Rebecca and she'd had to go to the hospital many times, whereas her pregnancies with Harriet and Jeannie had been almost perfect and she'd had next to no symptoms…

Her first symptom of pregnancy with Lily had been morning sickness, followed closely by horrendous mood swings. Now dizziness and fatigue seemed to be the telltale signs this time.

And the real kicker was that Jeannie hadn't had her period since the beginning of January, but she'd dismissed it as her being stressed out. But if the weeks added up correctly, then her night with the Joker had the worst possible timing. She hadn't been thinking about it at the time, of course. In fact, she hadn't been thinking at _all_.

Still, despite all the evidence that added up, Jeannie refused to completely believe it until she had undeniable proof. But how was she going to get a pregnancy test? Surely the Joker hadn't left one of _those_ lying around somewhere.

"There's someone at the door!" Lily suddenly shrieked, and leapt down off the chair, staring wide-eyed between Jeannie and her bedroom door as if she didn't know where to hide.

All thoughts of pregnancy rushed out of Jeannie's mind as she realized that she could, indeed, hear the ominous rattling sound of keys turning in the lock. "Go into your room!" she tried to say, but Lily had already made her decision to run over to Jeannie, crawling into her lap as if she was three years old and hugging her neck so tightly it hurt. Her knee was pressing into Jeannie's stomach, and she tried to ignore the momentary burst of nausea she felt at the touch, although it could have just been nerves.

A second later, the door swung open and Jeannie saw the Joker for the first time in two months. He seemed taller than she remembered—or perhaps that was just her position—and she'd forgotten quite how frightening he was as he loomed over them, a sneer crossing his features.

"Why, hel- _lo_ there," he began. "I bet ya thought you were _rid_ of me, huh?"

Jeannie could feel Lily shaking against her, and could do nothing but put a comforting hand on her back. "I'll admit the possibility did cross my mind," she said, trying not to think of what they had been doing the last time she had seen him. "What are you doing back here?"

"Ya know, tiger, I've been asking myself that very same question," he mused. Jeannie's head followed his movements as he walked over to the table and, after surveying the kitchen, stuffed the remainder of Lily's sandwich into his mouth. "But you should be thanking Batman for this. He was asking after you."

"Batman?" Jeannie asked, who had been under the impression that the vigilante had gone into hiding. So he _hadn't_ forgotten about her, after all.

"Yes, I just spent some time last night with him," the Joker said nonchalantly. "Why? Are you _jealous?_ " He raised his eyebrows and looked sideways at her, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face.

"No, of course not," Jeannie snapped, too quickly. "I was just thinking it was a shame he didn't manage to catch you."

"Oh, he tried," the clown said, dusting his hands of bread crumbs and walking over to them. "But let's just say I _outsmarted_ him." He crouched down on his knees to reach out and grab Lily's face, turning it to face him. "Still hiding behind your mother, huh, kid?" he asked. "That'll look _hilarious_ when you're a teenager."

"Go away," Lily mumbled. Jeannie tensed, waiting for the Joker to snap and pull out his knife. But the clown just giggled, shaking his head in dark amusement.

"Here's a good idea," he began mockingly. "How about _you_ go away instead of making _me_ do all the work?"

Lily's eyes snapped up to Jeannie's, and she gave a quick nod. "I'll be fine," she whispered, letting go of her. After a moment of hesitation, Lily stood up and darted out of the room. Her door slammed a second later, leaving Jeannie alone with the Joker.

Her first immediate thought was that even if she wasn't pregnant, she could not, under any circumstances, let him know that something was off. He would find her weaknesses and exploit them until the truth came tumbling down. And if she _was_ , well…there would be nothing stopping him from doing whatever he wanted to get the child out of her this time.

" _Soooo_ , _Jean_ -nie," the Joker began, comically sitting down and stretching his legs out beside her, as if they were two teenagers having a chat, "Didja miss me?"

"I can't say that I did, no," Jeannie replied, somewhat honestly. However, the Joker saw right through her half-lie and snorted.

"Yeah, you're a _terrible_ liar," he said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't think that someone who went to all the trouble to, ah, _seduce_ me would be glad to see me go, _especially_ not you. By the way, we need to have a little chat about you assaulting me again."

"You—you went along with it!" Jeannie said furiously, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Even if you were sick, you could have still resisted or—"

"But I never said _I_ didn't want to do anything," the Joker interrupted, looking as if he was having great fun with their conversation. "It was all _you_."

Jeannie didn't know how to respond, but luckily, he wasn't finished. "You got yourself into this mess," he explained, gesturing around them. "Now you'll have to find a way to get yourself ou _t_ of it."

"I didn't get myself into it!" she argued. "You're the one who blackmailed me to go to our old apartment where you blew my best friend and her family to hell, and then you brought me to the warehouse and then here—"

"But _you're_ the one who came to Gotham!" the Joker pointed out. "If you had just stayed put, you wouldn't be here right now!"

"Yeah, well, I'm regretting not doing that," Jeannie shot back. She tried to stand up, but the Joker grabbed her wrist and she tumbled down on top of him.

He held her tightly to him as he whispered in her ear, "You and the Batman just _cannot_ let me go. I know I'm an attractive guy, but—" Luckily, he was cut off as the resounding boom from what sounded like an explosion erupted outside, so powerful that it rattled even the windows on the glass.

The Joker's head jerked toward the sound, and he roughly pushed Jeannie away from him as he stood up and stared out the balcony window. Jeannie couldn't see the explosion, but the smell of smoke was already beginning to fill up the air—it must have occurred somewhere close by.

He smacked his lips in disapproval as he muttered, "Speaking of the Batman, he's getting closer to finding me. I'm, ah, _sorry_ to cut this so short, but I gotta go now, tiger," he said, slipping his gloves back on. Jeannie clumsily got to her feet and began to walk toward Lily's room, but instead the Joker grabbed her hand and yanked her back toward him. "Where's my goodbye kiss?" he taunted, before pressing his mouth to hers in a brutal, twisted display of dominance before letting go. The last thing Jeannie saw was his smirking face as he closed the front door behind him.

She stayed rooted in the spot for another moment before sprinting to the bathroom and retching, despite not having eaten that day.

Yes, she was definitely pregnant.


	22. April 2008: Reprieve

**One Month Later**

**April 2008**

Something was going to give. Jeannie could feel it.

If she had to turn her past six months into something tangible, she would describe it as a string—held loose at first, but slowly being pulled tighter and tighter at both ends until it was about to snap in two. And the tension in the past several weeks had been building and building; it was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.

As the days passed, the last remnants of winter officially giving way to spring, she became even more convinced that she was pregnant. Luckily, her morning sickness hadn't been as severe as it had been the previous time; instead, she spent much of her time craving for foods she didn't have and sleeping all day. Thankfully, Lily didn't question this arrangement too much: she spent most of her time watching cartoons, taking a nap herself, or using random objects as replacements for her stuffed animals to make them talk. She had dreamed up several inventive scenarios where she and Jeannie (played by the spoon and the fork) had managed to escape the Joker (played by a stick of butter) by cutting him in half. Jeannie was sure that, if the Joker had seen it, he would find it at least mildly amusing.

Speaking of the Joker, his visits had been few and far between in the past weeks, only coming in to make sure they were unhappy and to change his suit before heading out again. But this couldn't go on forever, and Jeannie wasn't sure whether she wanted to be there or not when things finally gave way.

So far, she'd managed to hide her pregnancy from the Joker, despite her stomach rapidly growing. In the past four weeks, it had gone from being flat to a small bump seemingly overnight. Jeannie had thanked her lucky stars that the sweater she owned was reasonably large, so she could hide the evidence for at least two, maybe three, more months, but she knew that the Joker would have to find out sometime. Part of her also wanted to tell Lily that she would soon have a little brother or sister, provided she was able to deliver the baby safely, but she couldn't risk Lily accidentally blurting it out in front of the Joker, as Jeannie was sure she would eventually do if she was trusted with the knowledge. So she had to settle for keeping her pregnancy a secret, and hoping that she could hide it for at least a little bit longer.

However, she often lay awake at night for hours on end, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how she was going to get out of _this_ one. What if her hunch that everything was going to change was really just the pregnancy hormones talking? What if she was forced to deliver the baby on her own? What if she _died_ giving birth? Jeannie shuddered, her hand resting lightly on her stomach as she thought of Lily walking into the room in the morning seeing her mother lifeless and covered in blood. Of course, the Joker might see her death as free reign to do whatever he wanted with Lily…

Jeannie rolled over onto her side, staring at the tiny crack of light from Lily's room shining in under her closed door. Lily, although she didn't often sleep in the Joker's bed like Jeannie had taken to doing, insisted that she sleep with the light on. Jeannie had obliged, since the fact that Lily could somehow get to sleep with nothing but an old raggedy blanket and the hard floor puzzled her to no end. Then again, children were much more resilient than adults, and it was more than likely Lily had gotten used to it after the first couple of weeks.

A light stab of nausea began to claw at her throat, but Jeannie forced herself to ignore it, taking deep breaths and trying to clear her mind. Just two hours ago, she had been craving the taste of chocolate so badly it was almost like a physical pain. Of course, there was no chocolate to be found anywhere near the apartment, so she'd had to stick it out, but even now, through the nausea, she still needed the rich, dark taste of chocolate…

Suddenly, the crack of light under the door disappeared, and at the same time Jeannie heard the front door creak open. She sighed under her breath and rested her head back on the pillow. The Joker didn't often pay them a visit at night—she presumed he was out wreaking havoc or trying to annoy Batman enough to make him return (the vigilante appeared to have vanished entirely)—but the few times the Joker had returned, he hadn't done anything when he'd seen Jeannie in his room other than laugh, so she felt herself safe for the moment.

But even so, she pretended to be asleep when she sensed the bedroom door open and the Joker enter the room, trying her best to make her breathing as slow and even as possible and her body as limp and relaxed as she could make it.

She heard him shuffle into the room and then stop at the foot of the bed. Hoping that he would just have come in to change his suit, Jeannie waited for the closet door to squeak open, but it never did. She could hear her heart pounding dully in her ears as she felt his gaze wash over her like someone had just poured a container of vile liquid over the bed.

"I know you're awake, Jeannie," his high-pitched, nasally voice sung from just above her. Jeannie involuntarily jumped, and his cruel laugh rang in her ears as she felt the bed creak from his weight suddenly leaping onto it. "Ya can't pretend, tiger," he chastised her. "That's not how you _sleep_."

Jeannie cracked open one eye to see one half of a curved, bloodred smile and, just above it, the outline of the black paint covering his eyes, so it appeared that they were just dark holes. "What do you want now?" she whispered, prepared to give him anything if he would just go away.

"What do I _want?_ " The Joker pretended to consider his question, cocking his head to the side like a dog would. " _Wellll_ …I want many things, tiger, but unfortunately, you can't give most of 'em to me."

 _Thank God,_ Jeannie thought, but didn't dare to say it aloud. "Then what do you want from me?"

He propped up one hand behind his head and regarded her almost seriously, his brown eyes searching her face in the half-light. "I think the better question is what do _you_ want from _me?_ " Before Jeannie could answer, he had grabbed her around the waist and pulled her on top of him. She swallowed hard as she tried to ignore the nausea bubbling up again at the rancid smell of his greasepaint so close to her nose. "T—take off the makeup," she whispered. "P—please."

The Joker's mouth twisted in consideration. "Is it _that_ bad?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he rolled them over so that she was underneath him before reaching over and opening a drawer on the bedside table, pulling out a mirror. He examined his reflection for a moment, Jeannie wondering how he could even see in the dark, before tossing it onto the floor, where it clattered loudly. "I guess it _is_ a bit smudged," he admitted, and she could see his leer inches from her face. "Looks like I'll have to take it off."

Jeannie felt a wave of relief as she waited for him to climb off her, but it never came—he brought his face down to hers instead, kissing her sloppily and forcing his tongue into her mouth. She felt a wave of revulsion as his hands snaked around her shirt and his legs wrapped around her torso—she was going to be an absolute _mess_ in the morning.

But why was he doing this? The Joker had never stayed for longer than twenty minutes in the past three months, so why was he so eager now? Could he be trying to distract her from something? Jeannie had a horrible vision of his henchmen dragging Lily away while she was with the Joker, or of them planting explosives around the apartment. On the other hand, though, she was sure that the Joker wouldn't plan anything similar to that; he would want her to be as terrified as possible, not try to draw her attention away from it.

His hand touched her stomach, and in a moment of desperation Jeannie grabbed his wrist and entangled it with her fingers, hoping that he wouldn't notice the abnormal bump, and he cackled, twisting her arms down onto the bed. It hurt horribly, but she could deal with the pain, as long as it diverted his attention away from her midsection. She just hoped that she would be able to keep it up for the rest of the night.

* * *

Jeannie woke with a start the next morning, as if someone had simply tapped her on the shoulder. She slowly sat up, noting the empty space next to her. Of course the Joker had left; had she ever expected him to stay? Well, at least waking up alone was better than getting a bullet in the head, as he had probably been tempted to do on numerous occasions.

She wasn't as sore as she had been previous times, but she cringed as she saw her skin was caked with dried greasepaint, the only physical reminder that he had been there at all. It was _everywhere_ —between her fingers, on her inner thighs, and even on her back. She shuddered, feeling as if his tainted presence was seeping into her skin and contaminating her.

Suddenly eager to wash herself off as thoroughly as possible, Jeannie tossed the covers away and threw her legs over the side of the bed, automatically touching her stomach. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be the worse for wear, and she didn't feel nauseous at all.

Something shiny was glinting in the light, and Jeannie caught it out of the corner of her eye as she stood up and began to head toward the door. She doubled back and walked over to the bed, her eyes narrowing incredulously.

She hadn't noticed it before, but a small silver key was lying on the Joker's pillow. Jeannie reached out to grab it, but froze just as her fingers were about to make contact with it—this had to be some sort of trick. The Joker certainly wouldn't leave a key behind accidentally, so it must be a trap. Jeannie whirled around and walked over to the closet, certain he was hiding just behind the door, but the room proved to be empty. She turned back and stared at the offending key; part of her wanted to try it on the front door just in case, but the idea of the Joker simply letting them leave after he had tried so hard to keep them imprisoned was laughable. It had to open something simple: maybe there was a locked cupboard in the kitchen she hadn't noticed before.

It took Jeannie another several minutes of pondering before she realized that every second she wasted, the greasepaint was sticking even more to her skin. So she finally tore her eyes away from the key and padded across the apartment to the bathroom, checking to make sure Lily was still asleep before slipping into the shower and turning up the water as hot as possible.

Unfortunately, there was very little soap left, but Jeannie made do with the most she had before stepping out. She hadn't gotten all of the paint off, but at least the worst was scrubbed away. After she'd gotten dressed and had a glass of water to calm her nerves, she headed back into the bedroom to examine the key some more. This time, with a bit more bravery, she reached out and plucked it from the pillow, turning it over in her palm.

"Mommy!" a voice called from behind her. Jeannie quickly stuffed the key inside her pocket and turned around, forcing a smile on her face as Lily bounded into the room. "I had a dream that I was at a gymnastics compe— _competition,_ and I got first place!"

"That's great, sweetie," Jeannie told her. "Maybe your dream will come true someday."

Lily pursed her lips in thought and then shook her head. "I don't think anyone will have a competition in _here,_ " she said sadly.

Jeannie reached down to grab her hand and lead her out into the kitchen, trying to fight the tears that had unwillingly gathered in her eyes. "We'll get out of here soon, Lily," she said in the firmest voice she could muster up. "I promise."

This seemed to cheer her daughter up somewhat, and there was a bit more of a spring in her step as she climbed into the chair to wait for her breakfast. Jeannie poured her a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal before examining the kitchen to see if there were any hidden cabinets or doors that required a key.

When she'd prowled the entire apartment looking for anything that even remotely resembled a lock, she was forced to give up the search. The Joker had left her a fake key just to get her hopes up. Of course, it would be just like him.

"What's the key for?" Lily asked from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her head tucked between her legs in one of her ridiculous stretches that made Jeannie's own legs ache just to look at her.

"Nothing, apparently," she sighed, glaring in distaste at the offending object. "I can't find any cabinets or tables."

"But aren't keys for _doors?_ " her daughter replied, frowning up at Jeannie as if she was the most idiotic person in the world.

"Yes," Jeannie said patiently, "But why would the Joker leave us a key to the door when he's kept us trapped here for months?"

Lily shrugged. "Maybe he changed his mind!" she said hopefully, jumping up and running over to Jeannie so she could snatch the key out of her hand. Jeannie watched doubtfully as she ran over to the front door and fitted the key in the lock.

And then something happened that neither of them actually expected: _the door opened._

As she had done when she'd first guessed she was pregnant again, Jeannie could only stand rooted to the spot in shock, her eyes growing wide. Lily, for her part, seemed to be just as astonished. She whirled around and did a double-take between Jeannie and the door as if her eyes were deceiving her. "Look!" she cried, just in case Jeannie couldn't see it for herself.

As she began to take a step toward the entrance, Jeannie unfroze and sprinted over to Lily, the rapidity of her response startling even herself. "Don't leave!" she instructed. "It's probably a trap."

Pushing Lily behind her, she stuck her head out of the door and stared down the empty stairwell; the hallway appeared to be deserted. "I know you're there!" she called, but the only reply was her echo.

Feeling very unsettled, Jeannie took a cautious step outside of the door. When nothing happened, she tried another step, and then another, until she was standing at the top of the stairs.

Something tapped her waist from behind, and she whirled around, already preparing to hit the Joker as hard as she possibly could, but stopped short when she saw it was just Lily, who had followed her outside. "I told you to stay inside!" Jeannie exclaimed, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"But I want to follow you," Lily whined. "I don't wanna stay in there alone!"

"Fine," Jeannie sighed; she wasn't in the mood to argue right then. "Just don't let go of my hand."

Lily obediently curled her fingers around Jeannie's, and they began walking down the long flights of stairs that reached the bottom, Jeannie always on the lookout for anything that would signal it was just one of the Joker's traps.

But they reached the bottom unscathed, and for the first time Jeannie wondered if her strange hope might have come true after all. Suddenly wondering if the Joker had a camera hidden around somewhere, she hurried Lily to the front door of the lobby and, taking a deep breath, emerged out into the spring air.

She'd been out on the balcony, of course, but nothing compared to actually standing outside, seeing the world stretched out before her. But this time Jeannie didn't stare in shock at her surroundings; if she was running into one of the Joker's traps, it was certainly a strange one. "Run!" she urged Lily, and both of them sprinted forward, Jeannie's legs screaming after just a few steps since she was so out of shape, but she forced herself to ignore the agony as they ran across the parking lot, feeling the warm sun beating down onto their backs.

Still nothing pursued them as they reached the sidewalk, and Jeannie was grateful no one else was around, for she would have tackled them to the ground and demanded to know if she was dreaming or not. But she had to compose herself for the sake of her daughter, and after a glance at Lily's shining face, her dark eyes wide with excitement, she let out the breath she didn't even know she'd been holding and began walking in the direction of where she hoped the police station was located. They were the only ones who could help her now; corrupt or not, she had no other choice. She didn't know anyone else in the city and she certainly didn't have money to spend on a plane ticket.

But Jeannie became paranoid again as they headed into the downtown core—there were fewer people about than she would have expected, but she kept imagining she saw the Joker's face in each one, or that he was staring at her through a shop window…

"Mommy, did he let us go free?" Lily whispered as they turned a corner and Jeannie saw the imposing brick building of her father's old workplace come into view. She was suddenly struck with the memory of her thirteen-year-old self and Jack jogging down the very same street fourteen years beforehand.

"Yes, Lily," she answered, squeezing her daughter's hand tightly and staring down into her hopeful face. "I think he did."

* * *

The moment they entered the police station, Jeannie's head began to spin, as if she had just leapt off a ride at the fair. She managed to stumble to the front desk and gasp, "Is Commissioner Gordon here?" He was the only one of her father's coworkers she'd trusted, and rumor had it that he was also close with Batman, who was about the only person who could help her now.

"Yes, he is," the woman behind the desk replied, looking back and forth between Jeannie and Lily. "May I have your names, please?"

There was no way that Jeannie was going to reveal herself to the police and cause another uproar. "I'm…Louise Weston and this is my daughter Victoria." She wrapped her arm tightly around Lily's shoulder.

"But Mommy—" Lily began, evidently about to question her answer.

Jeannie quickly said over her, "I need to speak to Commissioner Gordon. It's important."

Seemingly sensing the urgency in her voice, the woman nodded and picked up the phone. "James, there's a woman and a child here who want to speak to you. They say their names are Louise and Victoria." She waited for his response before putting down the phone and saying, "He says he doesn't know anybody by those names, but he'll speak to you anyway." She stood up and gestured that Jeannie and Lily follow her over to a small, private room with nothing more decorative than a desk and two chairs. Jeannie noticed the surveillance equipment in the corners and recalled the room from when her father had worked there—it had been used to question potential suspects who wouldn't fare well in the interrogation room, such as the mentally ill. She gingerly sat down in one of the chairs, pulling Lily into her lap, and wondered if _she_ would now be classified as mentally ill. No one could spend that much time with the Joker and come away unscathed.

Several minutes later, a middle-aged man with peppery-grey hair, a large mustache, and square glasses hurried into the room, looking agitated. "My name is James Gordon. Gloria said you wanted to speak to me?" he asked.

Jeannie nodded. "Actually, our names aren't really Louise and Victoria. My middle name is Louise, and Victoria is my daughter's middle name. Weston was my mother's maiden name," she explained. "I just wanted to keep this between us."

"Then what are your real names?" the commissioner asked, taking a seat across from them and folding his hands. Noticing Jeannie's wary glance at the cameras, he assured her, "They're off. Everything said in this room is confidential."

"All right," she began. "My name is Jennifer Napier, and this is my daughter, Lily—" she stopped as Gordon paled, his calm composure disappearing for a moment.

"You're the woman who was abducted by the Joker six months ago," he said. "We were forced to give up the search for you because you were declared dead!"

"Yes, I thought as much," Jeannie replied. She took a deep breath and then launched into the story of everything that had happened to them, including her past with the Joker and coming back to Gotham. Gordon never took his eyes off her, but she could tell that he was completely shocked.

When she was finished, she sat back into her chair and stroked Lily's hair, staring back at Gordon. "Well, Mrs. Napier, I just want to say that you are remarkably calm for such an ordeal," he said. "I will call doctors immediately, and although you both seem fine, a psychologist should be called for to evaluate your mental health. Don't worry," he said at her startled look, "You may use your pseudonyms. We will continue this conversation later, as I am certain that you both need a good meal before we speak about this any more."

Jeannie tried to protest, but the commissioner wasn't having any of it. She assumed he would need the time to process the information more than she needed to rest. Within minutes, a team of doctors entered the room, where they proceeded to give both her and Lily a thorough checkup, taking blood samples and shining lights into their eyes. The doctor gave Jeannie a questioning look when he lifted up her shirt to reveal her stomach. "Yes, I believe I'm about three months pregnant," she whispered to him, glancing over at Lily on the other side of the rom to make sure she couldn't hear.

The doctor wordlessly handed her a pregnancy test, and Jeannie wasn't in the least bit surprised when it came back positive. She allowed herself to be brought into an adjoining room that looked like something out of a hospital, although she knew it was used for operating on prisoners. After instructing her to lie down, the doctor took an ultrasound and pointed at a small dark blob on the computer screen. Jeannie couldn't believe she was seeing her unborn child, and couldn't stop staring at the shape, blurry though it was. She wished she'd gotten an ultrasound when she'd been pregnant with Lily.

"The baby should be fine, despite you not getting as many nutrients as you should be," the doctor explained, turning off the machine and helping Jeannie up. "Nevertheless, it would be preferable if you were to get a checkup every month or so to make sure things are progressing the way they should be."

Jeannie nodded and headed back into the main room where she was then seated back in front of the desk. She wondered if she was going to be questioned by a psychologist, but then realized that they had probably observed her and Lily while they were being examined by the doctors. She just hoped she had passed the test.

"So," Commissioner Gordon said as he took a seat back in front of them, his expression earnest, "How do you feel?"

"I think we're both fine," said Jeannie, although it was only half true. Lily seemed to be her normal self, while Jeannie realized she was shaking. Gordon noticed this and reached across the table to put a hand on her arm.

"Would you like anything?" he asked warmly. "Coffee or tea?"

Jeannie shook her head. "I just want to get somewhere safe, actually."

"Well, I'm sure that can be arranged," Gordon replied. "In fact, I should think you would even be safe walking down the street. The Joker was captured earlier today and is currently in Arkham Asylum."

Jeannie's jaw dropped and even Lily gasped. "He was… _caught?"_ she asked in disbelief. "But…he's gone the past six months without anyone knowing where he was!"

"Some things just fall into place," Gordon said gently. "I don't want to make assumptions, Mrs. Napier, but perhaps that was his intention. I doubt he would leave a key with you by accident."

"So you're saying that he _let_ himself be captured?" Jeannie asked. It would certainly be something he would do, but why? And why would he let them go free?

"I cannot confirm anything," Gordon told her. "But I do know of someone who would be better than me at helping you right now." He stood up and headed toward the door, holding it open for them with a tired smile. Jeannie and Lily headed through it and he waited for them to exit before beckoning for them to follow him down to the elevators. "I assume you would rather take this than use the stairs," Gordon said as they filed in and he pressed the button for the roof.

"I would, but I'm sure this one here has enough energy to run to the top and back several times," Jeannie managed to joke, pointing down at Lily. She still couldn't believe she was free; there was a surreal quality to everything that she said and some part of her was stopping her from believing it fully, in case she suddenly woke back up in the apartment.

When the door dinged and slid open, Gordon stepped out first onto the rooftop that overlooked the city skyline. Jeannie was surprised to see that it was dark outside; their day in the police station had been longer than she'd thought.

"Why are you bringing us up here, Commissioner?" she asked.

Gordon slowly turned around, but she could tell he was searching for something. "You've met the Batman before, haven't you, Mrs. Napier?" he asked.

"Yes," Jeannie stuttered, "But I thought he was—"

"No, he's not gone," Gordon explained. "He's just…a bit more secretive than he used to be. You can trust him. He had less to do with Harvey Dent's death than you might think."

Jeannie had always suspected that there was more to the story than the news had let on, and so she wasn't at all surprised by Gordon's words. She was relieved that Batman was still around; it made her feel safer.

A tall, daunting figure suddenly landed in front of them and Lily screamed, jumping into Jeannie's arms like she had when she was a toddler. Jeannie staggered under her weight; even without the added stress of the pregnancy, Lily was quickly growing too big to be held. "It's just Batman, sweetie," she tried to soothe her. "He's here to help us."

While Lily suspiciously examined the new arrival, Jeannie strained to hear the conversation that he and Commissioner Gordon were having. Unfortunately, the noise of the traffic below and the roar of an airplane flying overhead made it difficult to discern their words. Finally, they both trudged over to where Jeannie was standing. "We have a safe place for you to stay tonight," Gordon explained. "Tomorrow you can call your family to let them know you're all right and we'll get you on a plane back to Chicago as soon as possible."

Jeannie could have hugged both of them. "Thank you so much," she said fervently. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"I can bring them to the house," Gordon said to Batman. "You take care of everything else."

The vigilante nodded before turning to Jeannie. "I know who you are, Jennifer," he growled, his deep voice somehow calming instead of threatening. "I did some background investigation. As it turns out, I did have some contact with Jack Napier as well."

Jeannie raised her eyebrows quizzically, wondering who he was, but she didn't imagine she would find out anytime soon. "So where are you going to take us?" she asked Gordon.

"A house down by the river," Batman answered instead, and he held out his hand. Struggling to balance Lily on one arm, Jeannie reached out her hand and he dropped another key into her hand, this time gold instead of silver. "It has one of the best security systems in the city. You and your daughter will be safe here."

"I can't thank you enough," Jeannie said again, closing her fingers around the key. "You don't have to do this."

"But it's the right thing to do," Batman answered. He took a step backward and she sensed he was about to disappear.

Before he did, Lily called, "Wait! Why do you dress up as a bat?"

"Lily, don't be rude!" Jeannie scolded. "It's none of your business."

But she couldn't have sworn she saw a smile underneath the cowl. "It scares you, doesn't it?" Batman asked. When Lily nodded, he replied, "Then there's your answer," before melding into the night, almost as if he was a part of it himself.

While Lily stared after him in awe, Gordon put a gentle hand on Jeannie's shoulder. "Ready to go?" he asked. She nodded and Lily thankfully jumped out of her arms, preferring to jog after the commissioner. Jeannie suspected she would be getting tired very soon.

Once they'd taken the long elevator ride down to the bottom and headed back outside, Gordon led them to an unmarked patrol car parked outside the building. "It's more inconspicuous," he explained as Jeannie and Lily climbed in.

The city was quiet as the car sped through the streets with a steadfast determination. Jeannie, who had been so used to the Joker's unpredictable driving, was relieved to be in a car with someone who actually seemed to know what the word "rules" meant.

Lily, she saw, was beginning to fall asleep, and by the end of the ride Jeannie had to rouse her. She yawned hugely, leaning heavily against her mother as Gordon opened the door for them and gestured to a grand mansion surrounded by iron gates and what even looked like a watchtower.

"I know it's quite large," he said, almost apologetically, as he punched in a code to the gate and it slowly creaked open, "But it's one of the safest places in the city. You'll be fine for tonight."

The interior of the house didn't appear to have much furniture or amenities, but Jeannie didn't mind that at all. She declined a tour from Gordon, and went exploring through the rooms until she found one with a bed, where she tucked a sleepy Lily in under the covers and kissed her on the forehead, making sure she was unconscious before going back downstairs to where she saw that Gordon was on the phone, talking urgently and his hand over his forehead. He quickly snapped the phone shut when he saw Jeannie.

"Mrs. Napier, do you mind if I leave now?" he asked. "I just received word that Edward Nashton and Jonathan Crane have escaped Arkham Asylum and are attempting to block all exits to the city—the airport, the ferry, the tunnels, everything.."

Jeannie's hand flew to her mouth. "They did?" she gasped. "What about the Joker?"

"From what we know, he's still in Arkham," Gordon replied. He moved toward the door and pulled on his coat. "Will you be fine alone tonight? There are guards posted at the entrance to the house."

Jeannie nodded. "Yes, I'll be fine," she told him, but her heart was pumping with fear again as she watched him leave, the blue and red lights flashing in the night.

Well, at least her instincts had been right. Something _had_ given way...but she had no idea if she should be pleased about it or not.


	23. September 2008: Apprehension

**Five Months Later**

**September 2008**

_The Gotham Times_

_Monday, September 15, 2008_

_**Ten teenagers feared dead after building collapse in the Narrows** _

_By Vicki Vale_

_At least nine people are missing after a fifty-year-old apartment building collapsed in the heart of the Narrows after yesterday's storm. No foul play is suspected; however, residents believe that the poor infrastructure of the building, combined with lingering effects of the fear toxin, may have caused the residents to act slower than usual –contributing to the accident. The victims were all between the ages of fifteen and nineteen and were believed to have been living together to save costs. Their names have been withheld until further information is discovered._

Jeannie tossed the paper aside the moment she saw the headline, refusing to read any more bad news. The past five months had been a whirlwind of tragedy after tragedy as Gotham slowly caved in on itself, the residents turning on each other. At its peak, the city had been home to twelve million people; after the Joker had surfaced, estimates had proclaimed that at least two million people had left the area. In the interim after the Joker's capture but before Scarecrow and the Riddler had escaped Arkham, four million had fled, making it the largest mass migration in human history and halving Gotham's population. Now, five months afterward, the city was eerily deserted, leaving the six million that remained behind—or who couldn't escape—to build a sense of pseudo-security, false though everyone knew it to be. The newspaper still ran, the schools remained open, and, miraculously, some sense of order had managed to establish itself, though a current of unease always steadily ran just beneath the surface.

Crane had finally achieved what he had been planning for years: the complete and total control of the citizens. He had thousands of gallons of his fear toxin stored in a warehouse by the river—incidentally, near the site where the Joker had kept Jeannie and Lily imprisoned the previous autumn. Crane had used a moderate amount of the fear toxin over the Narrows at first, which had eventually spread over to the entire city: enough to keep the citizens from revolting and trying to overthrow his reign, but not too much so that they would still be able to go about their daily lives. The toxin, ironically, gave the city some semblance of control. However, suicide rates were high, and barely anyone smiled anymore. They were like prisoners who had been kept in captivity for decades: perhaps if they all worked together, they would be able to bring those responsible for it down, but they were too oppressed to do anything about it.

This made it very simple to block off all exits and escape routes to and from the city: the Riddler had planted bombs on the main bridges, causing them to collapse, and the airport had been completely destroyed by an out-of-control fire (or at least that was what the media coverage had stated). Outside assistance could not reach Gotham by air, as the fear toxin created a constant smog over the city that made it impossible to drop supplies—but the city was self-sufficient, anyway; it had enough supplies to last a number of years. Since the fighter jets couldn't land at the airport and the smog caused by the toxin was thick enough to cause visibility issues all the way to the coast, rescue efforts by air and ground had proven to be futile. There had been an underground tunnel at the beginning which had led to several hundred elite citizens being smuggled out, but once the Riddler had learned of the tunnel he had promptly caved it in, breaking the city's last form of contact with any possible help.

What Gothamites _didn't_ know, however, was that the entire world was watching them. The American president had committed a number of blusters and mistakes that had cost the lives of hundreds of rescue workers attempting to get into the city, and his attention was focused on happenings elsewhere in the world, leaving Gotham to fend for itself. The rest of the world knew that they couldn't intervene without risking the annihilation of six million innocent civilians. For the past five months, Gotham had been suspended in a limbo state, while the president and his advisors fought over what should be done.

Perhaps it was terrifying that two men were running what had used to be one of the largest cities in the world completely by themselves, but Gotham's location, on an island and separated from the rest of the continent, more than lent itself to the cause. Really, it was a wonder that it hadn't been done before…or so the newspapers wryly commented.

But as of yet, no one knew exactly what the Riddler and Crane wanted with the city. Crane seemed content enough to rule with his fear toxin, performing gruesome experiments on his unwilling victims and seeing how long they could last before they literally died of fear. The Riddler, on the other hand, was less subtle about his crimes; he would often leave hints for what was left of the police force to find before blowing up a building or systemically slaughtering a group of citizens who happened to get in his way. He enjoyed wreaking havoc on the city, but it was more to feed his own sadistic tendencies and obsession with riddles than any point he was trying to make.

Even with the fear toxin and the Riddler's little games that had been occurring for nearly half a year, Gotham was still, somehow, functioning. There were no satellite signals or Internet—they had been as cut off from the outside world as the outside world was from them—and the newspaper was the only source of information, but the city maintained a shaky sense of order. It was often compared to the regimes during the Second World War, with the Riddler and Crane as the dictators. Those living in the Palisades had no reason to panic, as they continued on with their normal, vapid lives, while those in the Narrows had it worse, as always. There was a far greater chance that a bomb would go off in the downtown core or that someone would be abducted walking down the street than there was of being killed in the Palisades or in more affluent neighborhoods like Gotham Estates. These citizens could afford some semblance of normality. At least there were no signs of food and water shortages just yet.

Jeannie and Lily had been living a fairly comfortable life in the mansion that Gordon had offered to them. With the Joker still in Arkham, they had no reason to fear, and their position close to the water meant that they had one of the highest possible chances of escaping, should the need arise. Although Jeannie didn't often like to venture downtown, she enjoyed the change of routine and the different scenery that it brought her—if she stayed in the mansion, palatial though it was, she would begin to feel claustrophobic again and once she had even begun to hyperventilate, thinking she was trapped in the apartment.

Despite the fact that she was comfortable physically, she was still mentally and emotionally traumatized by the months spent under the Joker's grasp, and often suffered from recurring nightmares about him. She never read the paper in fear that one day she would wake up to find that he had escaped, and refused to venture within five miles of Arkham. Nonetheless, she expertly hid her fear from Lily, who had, miraculously, handled the situation much better than Jeannie was. She had bounced back to her normal self within months of their release, and her biggest annoyance now was that she couldn't watch TV. Jeannie knew her daughter was extremely lucky that she wasn't suffering more severe side effects from their ordeal.

Batman and Gordon would often check up on them, buying them any furniture they wished and delivering supplies as needed. Jeannie was forever indebted to them for all their help, especially since she knew that they had far more important jobs to do than look after her and Lily. Gordon was single-handedly trying to hold what was left the of the crumbling police force together, and Batman was trying to thwart as many of the Riddler's crimes as he could while simultaneously trying to stay undercover; the citizens still had no idea that he was still around. The city would have been in ashes months ago if it wasn't for him.

Despite his intimidating figure, Jeannie found him easy to talk to, and she would often confide in him about the Joker or grudgingly admit that she still couldn't let the clown go. Some dark, twisted part of her was still in love with him, knowing that, despite how appalling he may be, he had once been her husband. Batman had told her as much one day, and she had bowed her head in embarrassment, ashamed to meet his eyes. _He_ didn't blame her for what she had done with the Joker, but Jeannie still blamed herself.

Shortly after they had first moved into the mansion, Jeannie had taken Batman aside and asked him if it would be possible for him to get Lily a stuffed rabbit to replace Thumper. Batman had come back the very next day with an enormous rabbit that was nearly as large as Lily herself, and Jeannie hadn't seen her daughter's eyes light up like that in over a year. To everyone's astonishment, Lily had thrown her arms around Batman's waist, hugging him as tightly as she could, and bluntly declared, "I wish _you_ were my daddy instead." Now Lily hardly went anywhere without Peter (whom she'd named after Peter Rabbit, her current favourite bedtime story).

As time had passed, it became more and more difficult for Jeannie to keep her pregnancy a secret, especially since she couldn't wear sweaters and baggy clothes in the summer. She'd finally sat Lily down one day in July and explained that she would have a little brother or sister in several months. Jeannie had held her breath, expecting Lily to ask how babies were made or even be upset that she had to share her mother with another child, but her daughter had just frowned at her, as if thinking deeply about something, before bursting out with, "Why do you want a baby _now,_ Mommy? This is a very bad time for one!"

Jeannie had laughed in spite of herself, but of course she hadn't given Lily a straight answer. So far, Lily was largely unconcerned about the pregnancy other than whether it would be a boy or a girl. She claimed she wanted a girl so she could play dress-up with them and pretend that the baby would be like one of her dolls.

Although she could have found out the baby's gender if she wanted to, Jeannie decided to wait until the birth, for the simple reason that getting an ultrasound would involve going to a doctor in the city, which she wanted to avoid at all costs. The shortage of doctors coupled with the large population meant that she would probably have to wait months to even get an appointment, by which time it would already be too late. Gordon had once brought her a baby names book, but aside from half-heartedly circling a few names she liked Jeannie hadn't put much thought into the matter. Some part of her had chosen Diana if it was another girl, after Jack's mother. Names for a boy were slightly more difficult, as Jeannie didn't want to pick an arbitrary name like most people did nowadays. She'd briefly considered Liam or Michael, after Mr. Kerr, before finally settling on the one that had popped into her brain without warning: _Jack_. Since Jeannie doubted that the Joker would ever go by that name again, it was a perfect way to remember him and yet acknowledge that the original Jack Napier was well and truly gone at the same time. She'd already decided that he would be nicknamed Jay, as she wasn't sure if she could handle thinking of Jack when it wasn't in relation to the boy she had fallen in love with.

Now it was mid-September, and she was nearly eight and a half months pregnant. Gordon had pulled some strings and sent one of his trusted doctors on a house call to Jeannie the week before, and after he'd ascertained that the baby was fine the doctor had said that she was due on the ninth of October, four days after Lily's sixth birthday, although of course she could go into labour at any time. Now Jeannie found herself worrying any time the baby so much as kicked or when she thought she felt a contraction. Gordon had given her his number that she were to call if she thought that she was going into labor, but there was no guarantee he would be able to help her in time, as he was already so busy.

Jeannie rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the headache that had been bothering her all day, and dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. She'd barely woken up and already her feet were aching as if she'd been walking all day. Her stomach was definitely larger than it had been when she was pregnant with Lily, and she'd even jokingly asked the doctor if she was carrying twins. Luckily, she wasn't, but part of her secretly hoped that she would go into labour early, even if only for the fact that it would mean that the baby would finally be out of her. Then again, she'd been bedridden for the majority of the first time she had been pregnant, so perhaps she simply wasn't used to lugging around all the extra weight.

"Mommy, I want to go to the park," Lily announced, skipping into the room and dragging Peter behind her, who was so large that she couldn't carry him normally.

Jeannie sighed heavily. "The park? Can't you go play in the yard?"

"No—I promised Peter that I would push him on the swings," her daughter argued, her lower lip trembling as if she was about to cry. Jeannie was sure she was just trying to get a reaction out of her, but after one last longing glance at the chair she stood up, trying to ignore the aching in her feet.

"Fine," she reluctantly agreed. "But we're only staying for an hour."

* * *

It was a dark, overcast day outside—then again, it was difficult to tell which was the actual weather and which was the effect of the fear toxin, which blanketed the city like a haze of pollution. Jeannie trailed along behind Lily as she eagerly ran down the front drive and pressed in the code to the gate. Lily, it seemed, hadn't lost any of her energy during either their imprisonment by the Joker or the long-lasting effects of the fear toxin. Jeannie marveled at her daughter's strength.

The playground was a ten-minute walk from their mansion, although it was very rarely used. Lily had made friends with several of the other children who regularly played there during the summer, but now that the weather was getting colder they didn't come outside as often.

While Lily ran right up to the swings, Jeannie sat down on one of the benches and stared out at the rushing river and the skyscrapers that lined the opposite side of it. Here, far removed from the downtown core, it was difficult to believe that Gotham was now ruled under tyranny, like some twisted police state.

A movement on the path caught her attention, and Jeannie started when she saw a dark-haired man walking toward her, his hands stuffed in his pockets as if he was bracing himself against the cold wind. But it didn't take her long to realize that this was no ordinary man going for a stroll: she recognized his rectangular glasses and bright blue eyes at once.

"Crane," she breathed, and immediately stood up, wondering if she should scream at Lily to run. Why was he here? While the Riddler was often seen in public, Crane rarely surfaced at all. Jeannie shrank back, turning away from him, but it was too late.

"It's _Dr._ Crane to you, Mrs. Napier," he called lazily.

Jeannie was taking deep breaths, trying to conceal her fear. Lily was still happily playing on the swings, oblivious to the man who had approached her mother. "What do you want?" she asked shakily, staring the man who was partly responsible for the current state of Gotham squarely in the eyes.

"Oh, I don't want anything," Crane said dismissively, his expression remarkably blank. "I was just taking a walk when I noticed you and remembered who you were. I prefer this area of the city—it's so far removed from everything else."

Jeannie didn't answer him; she merely stayed very still, aware that he was able to kill her within the blink of an eye if she so wished. Even so, she couldn't bring herself to be as afraid as him as she was of the Joker. Even with his fear toxin, Crane could not muster up one-tenth of the presence the Joker had. She wondered if it frustrated him.

"I wonder if the Batman has told you that I am now the head of Arkham Asylum," Crane said, smirking at the terrified look on her face. "No, I suppose he wouldn't…and don't pretend you don't have any contact with him. But don't worry, Mrs. Napier—I'm not planning to let your husband out anytime soon. He's too much of a wild card, if you'll pardon the pun—although it seems as if he was, shall we say, quite _busy_ the last time you saw him." He made no pretense of giving her stomach a coldly amused look, and Jeannie placed a hand over it. "As long as you don't interfere with anything, I can promise that you and your daughter will be safe. It wouldn't do to have your husband find out where you are currently living, would it?"

"Why did he turn himself in?" Jeannie demanded. "He must have some reason for not trying to escape in the past five months."

Crane smirked. "The Joker is nothing but a mad dog. He is going to be put down very soon. I will be sure to let you know of that when the time comes, Mrs. Napier, but until then…" He reached into his coat and pulled out an unmarked silver bottle, handing it to Jeannie. "Toxin," he replied in response to her confused look. "You never know when you might need it."

And with that, he went off down the path again, leaving Jeannie staring after him with the uneasy feeling that the meeting _hadn't_ been merely chance.


	24. September 2008: Foreboding

Jonathan Crane strode purposefully down the concrete halls of Arkham Asylum, a light smirk on his face. He had been meaning to speak to Jennifer Napier for a long time. Of course he did not care whether or not she ultimately lived once she was no longer useful to him. Giving her the toxin had been his own little private joke.

Although he was technically the head of the institution, he rarely visited it, instead letting his inferiors take care of the patients. Even less so did he visit Maximum Security—after all, who in their right mind would want to see the country's most terrifying criminals? Crane was not looking forward to this particular appointment, but it was something that had to be done. Better to wash his hands of it as quickly as possible.

He stopped in front of the most heavily guarded door of all—two burly men stood on either side of it and there were hundreds of blinking, flashing lights placed on the doors, detecting the Joker's movements at all times, keeping track of him. Crane had to admit that he was surprised the clown had lasted this long in Arkham without breaking out, and he felt a grudging respect for him, though of course he would never admit it.

With a nod to the guards, they stepped aside. One punched in the security code to the cell, and with it a seemingly never-ending string of doors slowly began to creak open, revealing a pathway to the most reviled prisoner that had ever set foot in the asylum.

Holding his head up high, Crane walked directly into the cell without even a shudder to betray any sign of fear or anxiety. He treated this as an unfortunate but necessary task above anything else.

The Joker's paint had long since washed off, and he looked less like a man than ever, his scars having opened and healed numerous times, his eyes glinting wickedly in his gaunt face. He sat perfectly still on his cot, his hands on his knees and his greasy, unwashed hair obscuring Crane's view of his face—which was probably for the best. He showed no sign of movement as the doctor stepped inside.

"Napier," Crane said emotionlessly. "I feel it is my duty to inform you who I saw on my walk today."

For the first time, the Joker looked up, his eyes sparking with amusement. Five months in Arkham had not dented his spirit, much less broken it. "Oh, _do_ tell me, doc. The postman? The _president?_ "

"Your wife," Crane replied without any hint of caring. "She and her daughter were in the park across the river. They appear to be doing quite well, all things considered, but you never know what might happen to them." He let a trace of menace enter his voice, implying that something would indeed happen.

"How touching," the Joker sneered. "I never had you pegged as the type to, uh, keep an eye on them for me."

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about," snapped Crane, losing a bit of his composure. "Now that I know where your wife is, you might be more willing to obey me."

The Joker burst into a sudden howl of laughter, echoing around the walls and unnerving even Crane, who took a step backward without consciously realizing what he was doing. "Are you trying to blackmail me, hmm? You think that I'm going to follow your orders in exchange for their _safety?_ That' _s_ a good one!" His giggles fell silent, but he continued to shake with laughter, gripping his sides as if he couldn't contain himself.

"You got yourself caught," said Crane, aware that the conversation wasn't going to the way he wanted it to. "And now you're at my mercy—"

"In case you haven't noticed," the Joker replied, his voice suddenly turning into a growl, "I am at no one's mercy. And you are an even bigger fool than I thought if you think that I did not _intend_ to be caught."

This temporarily unnerved Crane. "What do you mean? So you turned yourself in on purpose?"

"Well, ya _see_ , even the walls have ears." The Joker raised his eyebrows, waiting for Crane to reply. "Believe me, doc, I've learned a _lot_ more about your little plan here than the Batman ever could out _there."_ He made a sweeping gesture toward the door.

Crane swallowed; the sound was deafening in the suddenly silent cell. "There's nothing you can do to stop it, Napier," he answered. "You are going to be put down before anything important occurs—"

" _Put down?"_ the Joker interrupted, and he began to laugh again. "No, no, _no_ , Doctor. _You_ are the one who is going to be put down. I'm, ah, quite upset with the way you are handling this asylum. It's time to get a taste of your own medicine."

Crane took another step back and pulled a bottle of fear toxin out of his pocket, prepared to use it on the Joker, but the clown moved incredibly fast: he threw himself at Crane, sinking his teeth into the other man's forearm. With a yell of surprise Crane dropped the bottle, where it clattered to the floor and rolled against the wall. The Joker roughly grabbed Crane's throat and slammed his head into the concrete ground, where it made a sickening impact. Blood began to pour from a wound on his head as he slumped to the side, unconscious.

When he was satisfied that Crane wasn't going to wake up anytime soon, the Joker reached for the fear toxin and sprayed it directly into his face. The doctor's hands curled into fists and he began to yell and jerk around as the toxin took effect. The Joker watched in satisfaction as Crane began to scream, writhing and thrashing on the ground. With another sadistic giggle, he flipped open the bottle and poured its entire contents right into Crane's mouth. The toxin was now beginning to envelop the cell, and even the guards outside had both fainted, but the Joker showed seemingly no reaction.

Crane let out one last strangled scream and fell silent, the pulse in his temples slowing to a stop. "Well, congratulations, doc," the Joker told him. "You have been killed by your own creation and literally _died of fear._ Ironic, isn't it?"

Of course Crane didn't answer, but that didn't stop the Joker from humming a little tune as he straightened up and kicked Crane's body to the side before heaving him up onto his cot and pulling the blanket over him, so to a guard or nurse it would appear as if the Joker was still there. He picked up the now-empty bottle of fear toxin and nearly skipped out of the room, pausing only to smash in the guards' heads with it on his way out.

* * *

Not long after the Joker's disappearance, what remaining police there was left in Gotham were called to the Asylum to investigate Crane's death—but they could not even step foot in the Maximum Security wing without wearing masks to protect themselves from the toxin. When the guards had awakened, they swore up and down that the Joker had left the cell breathing normally and with no need of a defense from the toxin. The police had no choice but to deny this fact, saying that it was impossible for a human being to inhale that much toxin and not be in the least bothered by it. What everyone thought but no one voiced was that very few people even believed the Joker was human.

But, since that was an impossibility, the police were left with only three choices: Firstly, the fear toxin didn't affect him at all due to his body's peculiar genetic makeup. Secondly, he was strong enough not to betray any signs of discomfort or pain. And lastly, the one that seemed the most likely; he had already lived through his worst fear and so nothing in the toxin could be worse than what he had once experienced.

* * *

Jeannie couldn't stop shaking for the rest of the day. She brought Lily home as soon as Crane had disappeared, refusing to answer any of her daughter's questions. When Gordon came to visit later that afternoon, he found her vomiting in fear, but she was able to brush it off as pregnancy sickness. She debated whether or not to tell him about speaking to Crane, but worried that she would only put him under even more stress and Batman would be forced to move her to a different location. She couldn't uproot Lily again now, not when she had been forced to live through so much in the past eleven months.

After Gordon had left, Jeannie went wandering through the house to search for Lily, who had predictably run off when she was busy. She finally found her daughter sleeping in Jeannie's own bed, clutching Peter to her and sucking her thumb, something she hadn't done since she was a baby.

Worried, Jeannie gently sat down next to her and patted her blonde hair. "Lily?" she asked quietly, and her daughter's eyes opened at once. "Mommy," she whispered, and threw her arms around Jeannie. "I dreamt that Daddy came for us again! He s—said that he would find us and then he took you away!"

"Shhh, it's fine," Jeannie tried to soothe her, but Lily was absolutely inconsolable. She could do nothing but stroke her hair and put on a brave face, wondering for the umpteenth time why Crane had wanted to talk to her. She put a hand to her pocket, where the bottle of fear toxin he had given her still remained, and was tempted to open it up and see if it really was fear toxin, or some other kind of poison that would kill her just as easily. And what had he meant about 'putting the Joker down'? Was he planning on _killing_ him? Jeannie's stomach rolled, and she was horrified to realize that she didn't want the Joker to die. She was still in love with him after all this time, even after all that he had done to her and not having seen him for nearly a half a year, but she was strong enough to stay away from him. She could love Jack, or the memory of Jack, from afar without running back to him. She swore to herself that she would never do that again, for both hers and Lily's safety.

When her daughter had calmed down somewhat, Jeannie led her by the hand into the kitchen where she made her cheese on crackers and read to her from one of her favourite stories. Lily's world was still so simple, despite all that she had lived through. Everyone was still either good or evil, on the side of light or dark, black or white…she would grow up to realize that most people straddled the divide between the two extremes…except for people like the Joker. No, Jeannie had absolutely no idea how Lily would be able to reconcile the fact that she was the daughter of one of the most inhuman creatures to ever walk the earth. And Jeannie hated herself for loving him.

* * *

Normally Batman only visited them once or twice a week, so Jeannie was startled later that evening to see him just inside her window, the rain outside lashing against his suit and making him seem even more intimidating than usual. His gloves were wrapped around the pane, his hazel eyes watching Jeannie closely. "What is it?" she asked him, hurrying over to where he knelt. "Is something wrong?"

He was silent for a beat before answering. "The Joker escaped Arkham earlier today."

Jeannie staggered back as if he had hit her, her hands flying to her throat. "He…he did?" she asked. "But…but how? Why?"

"The police are still investigating the situation," Batman said gruffly. "But don't worry, Jennifer. Gordon and I have posted guards outside the house and are monitoring any movements. You and Lily are safe here for now."

"But what about later?" Jeannie whispered, wanting nothing more than to run upstairs and clutch Lily as close to her as she possibly could. "He's going to eventually find us, and I don't know what he's going to do. He may have given us the key to escape the apartment last time, but I don't think he's planning on letting us run free for long."

"He has a reason," Batman replied firmly. "And I'm going to find out what it is." Before Jeannie could answer, he had disappeared. A strong gust of wind blew through the open window, bringing with it a whirlwind of rain that soaked Jeannie to the bone. She sank down into one of the chairs and dropped her head into her hands, unaware of the danger that lurked outside.


	25. September 2008: Dream

_Jeannie woke with a start, her hands clutching the sheets and her breathing erratic. She was covered in sweat and her heart was pounding crazily, although she couldn't even remember the dream._

_The room was dark and cold; much colder than she remembered. Jeannie reached over to pull the blankets around her again, but instead of landing on fabric her hands landed on warm flesh, her fingers wrapping around a pair of wrists. She gasped as the person lying next to her shot up, rolling her over onto her back and straddling her. "What is it,_ Jean- _nie?" a voice whispered playfully in her ear._

_"Jack," Jeannie breathed, and suddenly the room was flooded with light. She was lying on the old, hard bed that she and Jack had shared during their few years of marriage, and the room around them was their tiny apartment in the building that was now a pile of ashes in the middle of the Narrows. Her hands immediately went to her stomach, but it was completely flat, the same size as it had been before she'd given birth. Her hands were smoother too; less lined and wrinkled._

_But the most shocking feature of all was Jack, Jack as she had known him, Jack as she had loved him. He couldn't have been older than twenty, his curly blond hair falling across his face, his brown eyes lit up with a wicked but not malicious grin, and his scars stretching across his face._

_Jeannie reached up to bring his face down to hers, kissing him fiercely and molding her body to his, with none of the regret or guilt she felt whenever she was physically close to the Joker. "I love you, I love you," she whispered, holding him close and breathing in his warm, familiar scent. "Oh, Jack...what do you want from me? I want to save you, Lily, and the baby...but I fear that all of us are beyond saving now."_

_Jack drew away from her, but kept his fingers entwined in her hair as he ducked down again, pressing his scarred face to her jawline, her throat, her collarbone. "You already know the answer, love," he breathed, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "You just don't want to face it yet."_

_"Face what?" she began to ask, but with a rush in her ears and a great shudder, Jack suddenly disappeared, and she was left with only empty air, her arms wrapped around a ghost._

* * *

The next time Jeannie woke, she was so warm as to be uncomfortable, and the bed she was lying in was thankfully much softer. Her hands were resting on her ballooning stomach, and she felt a wave of despair surge through her as she remembered the dream. If only she could speak to Jack one more time...even if it was just to tell him goodbye...

Just as she was about to close her eyes again, something moved in the shadows across her room. Jeannie's heart immediately kicked into overdrive, the rational part of her mind trying to calm her down and reason that it was just Lily, but Lily would have called out for her by now or crawled into bed.

Seconds passed, and as Jeannie stared into nothingness, she told herself that she was just imagining things. There was nothing there; nothing but harmless shadows.

She slowly sank back down into the pillows, and just as she closed her eyes again the floor creaked.

"Hello, tiger," said a quiet, sneering voice from the end of her bed.


	26. September 2008: Refuge

Instead of screaming, which would have admittedly been the more logical action, Jeannie froze, her eyes searching the darkness for any sign of movement, for anything to reassure her that she was just imagining things. _No_ —he couldn't be here—Batman had promised—

And then the Joker melted out of the shadows. He looked as if he had not been gone a single day, or at the very least not kept locked up in Arkham. His long purple coat swished around him as he stepped toward her, and all she could see of him was his white greasepaint and two black holes where his eyes were. He wasn't holding a knife, but Jeannie would have bet everything she owned—which admittedly wasn't very much anymore—that he had plenty in the depths of his coat.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, the words spilling out of her mouth before she was fully aware that it was the stupidest question she could have possibly asked.

The Joker stopped when he was standing right next to her, but did not give an answer: indeed, he was unusually quiet. It was still so dark that Jeannie couldn't see the expression on his face, but then again, she wasn't sure she would want to. "Whatever you do, don't touch Lily," she warned, suddenly even more terrified—what if he had already seen her?

Now, at last, the Joker's mouth curved upwards in a cruel smirk, his scars twisting almost grotesquely. "When will you _learn_ ," he began, mock-disappointed, "That I, uh, don't _care_ about the kid?"

"Just because you don't care about her doesn't mean you won't kill her," Jeannie spat. She was confident that he wouldn't try to do anything to her—not now, when Batman had told her that he and Gordon had guards posted around the house. Then again, the guards obviously hadn't done anything to _stop_ the Joker from getting inside…

He laughed, low in his throat. The sound was as grating to her ears as ever, and she flinched away from him. "Ah, Jeannie, Jeannie, _Jean-_ nie," he mocked patronizingly. His gloved hand shot out and grabbed her under the chin, his fingers digging into her flesh as he jerked her head back towards him. "You still haven't been _listening,_ I see. How many times do I have to tell you? I need you to, ah, _cooperate,_ and killing the kid would be a hindrance to that, wouldn't you agree? _"_

In a sudden rush of boldness, she reached up and shoved his hand away from her. "You're one to speak of logic," Jeannie snapped. "I must be a very important piece in your plan, then, or you wouldn't have kept us locked up for nearly a year. And why the hell did you give me that key, anyway? Why not just let us rot in that apartment? I'm really getting sick of this game—"

The Joker's hand suddenly clapped over her mouth, while the other bound up her wrists tightly so she couldn't struggle. Jeannie's head cracked against the back of the wall, and she saw stars as the world spun dizzily around her. The Joker was now very close to her, his face filling up her entire field of vision so that all she saw was a blood-red smile and bottomless black eyes. "But I'm _not,"_ he muttered, and grinned, his teeth bright yellow. He had her bound so tightly that she couldn't even recoil away from him. "The game is only beginning, _Jean_ -nie."

"No," she tried to say. "No, it's not." But all she couldn't manage any more than a frustrated, muffled protest, glaring up at him with all the hatred she could muster. God, why couldn't he have waited until the baby was born before doing something like this? Jeannie could tolerate any beatings or punishments he could give her, but she could not and would not let him harm her child— _either_ of her children.

The Joker's grin widened as if he knew what she was thinking, and his fingers tightened over her wrists, cutting off the circulation in her hands. Jeannie bit down hard on her bottom lip, determined not to show any signs of discomfort, but it was becoming harder by the second. The adrenaline rush she had experienced on first seeing him was beginning to wear off, and was quickly being replaced by fear. She thought of the fear toxin Crane had given her and wondered if it would be effective on the Joker. _Probably not,_ she surmised. If the Joker's brain was already so chemically imbalanced as she had no doubt it _was,_ the toxin would only be a nuisance at best.

The Joker leaned in until his scarred mouth was inches from her ear, and Jeannie shuddered as he whispered, low and deadly, "You'd better get ready for some _fun,_ tiger _."_

"What the hell do you want from me?" she gasped, suddenly breathless; the baby had kicked her hard, as if it knew its father was feet away. She felt the Joker's hot breath tickle her skin as he drew his head away, and was glad his lips hadn't touched her skin. Her recent dream about Jack had only served to highlight the differences between him and the Joker. All Jeannie could do was to tell herself that he and the Joker were not the same person: it was the only way she could reconcile the fact that she had slept with him three times in the past year, and she herself had even initiated it once.

"You'll see," he told her, nodding to himself as if imagining the outcome. _"_ And you'll get a front-row seat. You know, you outta _thank_ me for this!" The Joker let go of her wrists and mouth so abruptly that she was left staring blankly at him in shock for a long second, feeling the blood rush back into her fingers. Jeannie coughed and spluttered, trying unsuccessfully to get the taste of leather out of her mouth as she massaged her wrists.

In her struggle to get away from him, she'd accidentally kicked the blanket away from her. Jeannie immediately reached for it, hoping to pull it back over herself before the Joker realized something was amiss, but as always, he had fully assessed the situation long before she did, and his arm shot out to grab the blanket, holding it out of reach. Jeannie was still wearing her clothes from the day before, and his eyes raked over her form suspiciously, taking in her maternity blouse and the curve of her stomach. Jeannie could pinpoint the exact moment realization dawned on him: his dark eyes narrowed until they were almost slits, and he leapt back from the bed as if bitten by a poisonous snake.

No explanation was needed, and Jeannie didn't offer one: time seemed to stretch on painfully, although it couldn't have been more than a few moments, while the Joker stared at her. She couldn't help but wonder if he was running through multiple different reactions in his mind and wanted to pick the best one he could use.

Just as Jeannie braced herself for him to grab his knife and forcibly cut her stomach open, the Joker doubled over in laughter, the shrill, piercing sound echoing throughout the bedroom until she was certain the entire city could hear it. He just stood there and _laughed_ like it was the funniest thing in the world, his shoulders shaking and his lank hair falling over his face. Jeannie didn't know whether this was a good or bad reaction, though she supposed there was never any kind of "good" reactions when it came to the Joker.

When he appeared able to speak again, straightening up and pointing at her with what she imagined was the blade of his knife, he giggled, "I leave you for a few weeks and _this?"_

Jeannie was outraged. "It's been five months!"

The Joker rolled his eyes and spread his hands outward, palms up in a questioning gesture. "I leave you for five _months_ and this?"

"Oh, please," Jeannie snorted. "You should have at least considered the possibility! Twice—with no form of contraception—"

The Joker paused in the midst of his laughter, changing moods so quickly that it terrified Jeannie. " _Twice_ ," he mused, and she mentally cowered away from him—she had heard that tone many times before, and it never led to a good outcome. _"What_ did we do twice?"

Jeannie was so shocked that she briefly forgot what she was going to say. "Huh?"

"Oh, come on," the Joker snapped impatiently. He grabbed her upper arm and forcibly pulled her to her feet, crushing her against him so tightly that she felt nauseous. The smell of smoke, greasepaint, and fire wafted up into her nostrils, and she nearly began to choke. But it wasn't romantic in any way: the Joker grabbed a handful of her hair and shoved their faces so close together that they were almost touching, his teeth bared in a feral grimace. _"_ You can't even say it. Are you ashamed of me, hmmm?" he snarled, his grip so tight that he was shaking her. "Can't even admit to herself that you—"

"Fine, I slept with you," Jeannie admitted, stuttering a bit in her fear. "Twice. Well, three times, but who's count—"

Apparently satisfied, he let go of her as if she were a possession he no longer saw fit to use, and she collapsed back onto the bed, afraid to take her eyes off him for even a second. "That's, ah, _bet_ ter," he muttered, and strode over to the opposite end of the room, flicking on the light carelessly. Jeannie threw her arm over her eyes and squinted as the electricity buzzed through the light, much slower than it should have been. Gotham no longer had a steady supply of power.

There were so many questions that Jeannie wanted to know the answer to, like why he had come back for her; why he given her the key to the apartment and let them escape; why he had spent the past months in Arkham and what he thought about the Riddler and Crane's plans—well, she supposed it was only the Riddler's plans now. But her throat was dry, her lips cracked, and the words wouldn't come. She folded her arms over her stomach, watching the Joker warily as he pawed through what little things she had managed to collect, tossing the books on the floor carelessly and examining her makeup with a sneer. The glass figurine of a horse Lily had found washed up on the shore one day was shoved onto the floor and smashed into a million pieces. Jeannie was struck with a hot wave of anger, but did not speak: she imagined that it was like a robbery, and if she didn't protest then she would eventually be left alone. When the Joker was seemingly finished rooting through her possessions with an infuriating carelessness, he plucked a book out from the top of the pile he'd thrown to the floor and glanced at the title: _101 Baby Names._ "How touching," he sneered. "Picking out names for the, uh, _new arrival_." His eyes moved down to her stomach with a deliberate, cruel maliciousness, and Jeannie wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. The Joker, not missing this, gave a harsh laugh and dropped the book back onto the floor, where he nudged it with his foot. The book was sent spinning across the bedroom, where it vanished under the dresser drawer and making it impossible for Jeannie to reach. She heard a low thunk as it hit the wall opposite, and couldn't help but flinch away from the noise. The Joker rolled his eyes at her and began to pace the room—so much for him deciding to give up and leave. Jeannie was still at a loss as to _why_ he had decided to come back for her, if he wasn't going to kill her. What did he need her for? Was he planning to kill her once she was no longer of any use to him?

"Ya know, I've been _thinking,"_ he began, his tone light and cheery. Jeannie tensed—she knew that was never a good sign. Even when Jack had been at his most dangerous, his angriest, he had always begun his speeches with a falsely jovial tone.

"Have you?" Jeannie asked, the words getting stuck in her throat on their way out. The Joker stopped his pacing and spun around towards her, his eyes suddenly very dark and cold. She saw his fingers tighten around something in his pocket, and knew that it was his knife.

"Tut, tut, _tut,"_ he admonished, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Did I ask you to interrupt?"

Jeannie folded her hands in her lap and bit her lip. "I suppose not," she said, resisting the urge to call him "sir" in the most sarcastic tone she could muster. She valued her own limbs too much for that.

The Joker made a dissatisfied noise but finally glanced away, as if he had wanted her to give a different answer. He clapped his hands together, the squeak of the leather almost deafening in the otherwise silent room. "I sug _gest_ that you name it Batman."

"It?" Jeannie asked, voice shaking, before she realized that he was talking about the baby. She gave a choked laugh, unable to hide her surprise. "I'm not naming it Batman—"

"That is a disappointmen _t,"_ the Joker sighed, apparently let down. His eyebrows drew together, but Jeannie could see a wicked smirk tugging at his mouth. "It's the only name I'll be able to tolerate." His eyes lit up with a sudden spark, and he straightened himself up to his full height, his head snapping around as if he expected someone to be standing at the door. "Ya know, _Jean_ -nie," he began, "I can't believe that you haven't figured out who he is yet. I thought it was… _obvious,_ since he and his pet commissioner are your, uh, knights in shining armor now."

Jeannie swallowed hard. "You have no proof that Batman and Gordon are helping me."

The Joker snorted, rolling his eyes. "Oh, please," he scoffed. "Did you think that you'd be able to put yourself up in a place like this all by yourself? Did you think I wouldn't notice that there are guards standing around the property? Batman couldn't be more obvious if he'd tried."

So how had the Joker managed to get inside in the first place? Had he managed to dismantle the security systems surrounding the house? And Jeannie was sure that nobody had been alerted that the Joker had managed to get inside, since someone would have come to her rescue by now. She was forced to conclude that the Joker had beaten Batman once again. "Fine," she said after a moment. "Batman _is_ helping me, but I still don't have any idea who he is. And it doesn't matter—"

The Joker's laugh was so swift and sudden that it startled Jeannie. "Doesn't matter?" he echoed. _"Doesn't matter?_ Of course it matters, tiger! It's the only thing that _does_ matter. Deep down, you know who he is."

"No, I don't—" Jeannie began to argue, but the Joker had suddenly tensed, his head swiveling toward the window as if he was a cat that had spotted a mouse—or a bat, she thought dryly.

"Come to spoil the fun," he muttered, and drew something out of his pocket. At first Jeannie thought it was a knife, but the Joker tossed it over in his hand, his fingers curling around the handle expertly, and she realized with a thrill of horror that it was a gun. Before she could react, he lifted it up and pointed it directly at her. _This is it,_ was all she could think, knowing that she would die staring right into the eyes of the man she both loved and hated more than any other—but then, instead of pulling the trigger, the Joker swung his arm around and Jeannie saw the barrel of the gun come flying towards her. She heard the sickening crack as it caught her right in the side of the head, and she slumped back onto the bed, unconscious.

* * *

The next thing she was aware of was a terrible, throbbing pain in her skull, and she cracked open one eye to see the familiar and comforting face of Commissioner Gordon staring down at her. His face was prematurely lined, but his eyes twinkled kindly behind his glasses. "Glad to see that you're awake, Jennifer," he told her. "You received a fairly severe blow to the head, but you should recover soon."

Jeannie pushed herself up to her elbows, trying not to wince. The bedroom was flooded with light, now seeming calm and unthreatening. It showed no signs at all that the Joker had ever been there—someone had painstakingly placed all the books back on the shelves, even down to the baby names book he had kicked under the dresser. But the room's seemingly idyllic nature was quickly dispelled when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across from her bed. Above her head, the stark white of a playing card was clearly visible, and Jeannie knew instinctively that it was the joker. A knife held it to the wall, the blade striking a hole straight through the joker's chest.

Gordon, sensing what she was looking at, hooked his thumbs through his belt and nodded grimly. "I found this right after he left," he admitted. "I kept it up there because I didn't want to tamper with the evidence."

"Is Lily all right?" Jeannie asked urgently, relief shooting through her when the commissioner nodded.

"She is perfectly fine, and wants to see you," he said with a slight smile. "She appears to have no memory of the Joker visiting her last night, so I think it can be safely assumed that his target was you."

Before Jeannie could answer, a figure dressed in Kevlar swooped in from the open window. Jeannie stared at Batman in shock; there was something very strange about seeing him in the daylight. "How are you, Jennifer?" he asked her gruffly, landing without a sound on the floor beside her bed. "Did he hurt you?"

"Only my head," Jeannie admitted, reaching up to rub her hair with a grimace. The baby was kicking happily in her stomach, so at least the damage hadn't extended to it. "Listen…" she said slowly. "I know that you wanted to hear what happened last night, but I hope you understand that I need some answers as well."

Batman and Gordon shared a look. "Yes, of course," Gordon replied. "However, we ourselves do not have all the answers. I'm afraid all I can tell you is that the Joker created a diversion on the other side of the city. While Batman was distracted, his henchmen planted a bomb in a nearby building and alerted the guards. With everyone sufficiently preoccupied, the Joker somehow managed to dismantle the security system and get inside. By the time I arrived, he had already vanished."

"Yes, I thought as much," Jeannie murmured. She couldn't help but feel sorry for Gordon, who was evidently overworked to the point of exhaustion, but he had still found the time to help her. She knew she couldn't become angry at him. The Joker was the only one who had the answers.

"Mommy!" a muffled voice called from the hall, and Lily darted into the room, a blur of pink pyjamas and tangled blonde hair. Jeannie held out her arms, and Lily ran into them, burying herself into the blankets and seemingly oblivious to Gordon and Batman. "Mr Gordon told me that Daddy came here last night," she whispered in Jeannie's ear. "Is it true?"

Jeannie was quiet for a long moment before she finally nodded. "Yes," she said. "It's true."

"But we'll find him," Batman promised. Lily turned her face up to look at him, her brown eyes wide.

"Will you?" she asked.

"I promise," Batman answered, but he was looking at Jeannie. Their eyes met, and she stared into their hazel depths, remembering what the Joker had told her. He had made it sound like she knew who he was, or at least had met him before. Something about the precise shade of his eyes was familiar to her, but Jeannie couldn't quite place what it was. Her eyes moved down to the lower half of his face, the only other space visible. He clearly needed a shave, and his mouth was set in a hard line. She wracked her brains, mentally searching through a list of all the men she'd known in Gotham. He had to have a lot of free time, if he was able to patrol through the night and sleep through the day…she guessed he was handsome, judging by what little of his face she'd seen…and he had to have money, and lots of it, to be able to afford all of his equipment—

And then it hit her.

She remembered seeing Jack standing in the midst of a gang of much older men as they laughed and shouted abuse in front of Wayne Tower, and she remembered how Bruce Wayne had shoved one of them aside with a strength she would never have expected of a spoiled rich boy. She remembered seeing him and a pretty girl, Rachel, at the restaurant one day, and how they had seemed to be so captivated by each other. She remembered seeing him at Zach Collingwood's funeral, even though she would never have expected a spoiled rich playboy to show any concern for one of his old employees, and the way Bruce had smiled and spoken with her in a perfectly intelligent, thoughtful way. She remembered driving past the destroyed Wayne Manor while Emily told her Bruce had accidentally burnt it down during one of his parties. And she remembered reading in the newspaper that although Bruce had allegedly fled Gotham once the Riddler and Crane's reign had begun, there had been no sign of him since.

Jeannie looked at Batman, whose hazel eyes had now turned instantly recognizable, and smiled. He had helped her because he had known her, and because he felt that he still owed her. "Bruce Wayne," she whispered.


	27. October 2008: Ephemeral

**One Month Later**

**October 2008**

The morning of Lily's sixth birthday dawned bright and sunny, though the bitterly cold wind put a stop to spending any length of time outside. Jeannie had scavenged up all of the baking supplies she could find (with a little added help from Commissioner Gordon, who had brought her cake mix) she'd made a cake for Lily, who had been so delighted that she got to eat the whole thing herself that she didn't make a fuss about not getting any presents.

While she happily shoveled handfuls of cake in her mouth (Jeannie knew she would likely be sick the next morning, but she didn't have the heart to deny her daughter anything on her birthday, and especially not after she'd been through so much) Jeannie sat across from the commissioner in the living-room, resting her elbows on her knees while her stomach ballooned out in front of her. The baby would arrive any day now, she was certain. On one hand, she would be grateful to be able to walk like a normal human being again instead of waddling, she would no longer be stricken by sudden stomach cramps that left her gasping in pain, and she wouldn't be running to the bathroom every ten minutes when she hadn't had anything to drink. The physical aspect of pregnancy was not something that she would miss at all. But part of her felt slightly guilty for even looking forward to it—she was bringing a child into the world in the worst possible place at the worst possible time, with the worst possible father. Surely nobody deserved that.

"Jennifer?"

Jeannie slowly raised her head to meet Commissioner Gordon's steady, compassionate gaze. She didn't deserve this—didn't deserve special attention from him and from Batman. Although she knew that they were just singling her out because of her connection to the Joker—there were millions of other trapped civilians they would be better suited to helping—she couldn't prevent the guilt that wracked her every time they stopped by the house.

The wrinkles that seemed to be permanently etched into Gordon's forehead only deepened when she didn't answer right away. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions," he began. "About the Joker."

Jeannie didn't flinch when the name was mentioned anymore; she just nodded dully, grateful that he had waited until Lily was suitably distracted to bring up the subject. "Fire away," she said, and then winced at her poor choice of words. Luckily, Gordon tactfully ignored this.

"Please understand that everything we say here is completely confidential, and no matter what your answers are, you won't be judged," he said, taking off his glasses and folding them on the coffee table that separated his armchair from the couch Jeannie was sitting on. "No one will know about this aside from myself and the Batman."

Jeannie nodded again—what _didn't_ they know about her at this point? That she'd slept with the mass-murdering, psychopathic clown and was soon due to give birth to his second child? Gordon was looking at her with endless pity in his eyes, pity she didn't and would never deserve. "You can ask me anything, Commissioner," she said. Staring across the table at him, she wondered how much stress he was under. He'd managed to send his family out of Gotham before the city was severed from the rest of the world, but what kind of dedication to it must he have to want to stay behind to help maintain some sense of order in this now-lawless pale shadow of the city he'd once fought for?

Gordon cleared his throat and broke their gazes, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Have you had any more encounters with him since he came into your room during that night three weeks ago?" he asked.

 _In reality, or in my mind?_ Jeannie wanted to retort. She took a deep breath before answering. "No," she said truthfully. "I haven't seen him."

But the Joker was always present in her mind, on the periphery of her thoughts, shadowing her. If she didn't see a flash of purple out of the corner of her eye, she saw him leering behind her reflection in the mirror—sometimes with his facepaint, sometimes without it—or hear the dying echo of his laugh in an empty room. And of course, he was always present in Lily's eyes. There was no way to stop the constant near-hallucinations; Jeannie suspected alcohol might have gone a long way if she wasn't pregnant, but as it was she was forced to stare longingly at the bottles from afar.

Gordon's eyebrows raised slightly; obviously that was not the answer he had expected to hear. "Are you sure about that?" he prodded gently. "No clues that he's been in the house?"

Jeannie shook her head. "Absolutely nothing," she said firmly. "And before you ask, sir, I don't know what he wants or what he's planning. He chose to stay in Arkham for five months."

"Yes," Gordon agreed. "But it seems logical that he wanted to find out what Crane and the Riddler were planning."

Jeannie gave a short, humorless laugh. "Commissioner, there is nothing _logical_ about the Joker."

Gordon's mustache twitched as if he wanted to smile but couldn't muster up the energy. "You are correct there, I'll admit. But that does seem the most likely explanation for his prolonged absence. Now that Crane is dead, the Riddler has the city within his grasp." He paused. "You knew him before too, didn't you? The Riddler?"

"Edward Nashton," she answered. "I didn't know him well, not like I knew Ja—the Joker, but it was always clear that he was different. I never could have guessed what he would become." _Never could have guessed that one day Gotham would be overrun by costumed freaks._

"And you have no idea as to what he might want," Gordon continued softly.

Jeannie shrugged. "To rule Gotham, clearly—isn't that what everyone wants? I do know that Edward will stop at nothing to achieve his goals, and that the Joker will stop at nothing to prevent him from doing that. The Joker wants to rule Gotham. But even more than that, he wants Batman's attention. He gets… _jealous_ when Batman focuses on something else. They're—they're opposite sides of the same coin. Light and dark, order and chaos. I know it sounds insane, but they can't exist without the other." She'd had a lot of time to think during her imprisonment, and this was the only explanation she'd come up with for why the Joker was so fixated on Batman. They were mirrors of each other, smashed apart into a thousand pieces and poorly glued back together. She was beginning to realize that she was less of a factor in Jack's transformation into the Joker than she'd thought.

Or had there even really been a transformation at all?

Gordon was silent for a long time, deep in thought, seriously considering her words. "We can't know exactly what the Joker intends to do," he finally said. "But nevertheless, I will add more security detail around the house."

 _Well, that'll certainly stop him,_ Jeannie thought sourly, but forced a small smile anyway. "Thank you, Commissioner."

The conversation seemingly over, Gordon retrieved his glasses and placed them back on his head before standing up. Jeannie was going to offer him a piece of cake, but he had politely refused her first offer and besides, there was something more important she had to tell him, something that she couldn't work up the courage to say until he was halfway to the front door. "S—sir," she finally called out, her voice unsteady.

Gordon paused and turned back to look at her, a quizzical expression on his face.

"The Joker, he—" Jeannie cleared her throat, bowing her head to stare at the floor instead of meeting the commissioner's eyes. "Whatever he's planning, whatever he wants…he said that it has to do with me."

* * *

As it turned out, they didn't have to wait very long to find out what the Riddler was planning. Six days after Gordon's visit, Jeannie was reading a bedtime story to Lily when the lights flickered once—twice—before going out completely, casting the bedroom in darkness. Jeannie sighed and stood up with great difficulty before waddling over to the light switch. Flicking it on and off did nothing, and when she went to the window she saw that the orange glow of the distant city lights was no longer visible, meaning that the power was out everywhere, not just their house.

"What's happening?" Lily asked, her voice rising higher in fear. She gripped the blankets tightly, brown eyes wide.

Jeannie tried her best to sound as calm as possible. "The power's just gone out," she said. "It'll be back on soon. Use this flashlight until then, okay?" She rummaged around in the emergency supplies bag she'd stocked in every room of the house until she found a flashlight. Switching it on, she handed it to Lily, her daughter's face illuminated with an eerie yellow glow. "I'm going to see if I can figure out what's wrong. Stay here for now, okay?"

Lily nodded obediently, and Jeannie made her way into the dark hallway, the shadows dancing across the walls and floor forming themselves into grotesque shapes. A cold sweat suddenly washed over her, and she ducked into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, but not even a drop came out of the faucet. "Damn it," Jeannie muttered. Not only did they not have electricity, they no longer had running water, either.

The lower back cramps that had been bothering her for the past few days suddenly returned with a vengeance, causing her to clutch her stomach and double over in pain. They were so strong that Jeannie's vision briefly turned white and she slumped to the ground, leaning her head back against the medicine cabinet.

 _Not now, not now, please not now,_ she repeated to herself over and over like a mantra. _I can't be going into labor now—this is the worst possible time—_

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, gasping, until the pain began to ebb slightly. Jeannie sat still for another minute before she tried to move—but was wracked by another agonizing contraction that caused her to groan aloud in pain.

"Mommy?" she heard Lily call. Jeannie didn't trust herself to answer without screaming. "Mommy, the Batman's here!"

 _Batman,_ she thought hazily—she hadn't seen him since the morning after her last encounter with the Joker—and managed to pull herself up into a standing position, forced to grip the edge of the sink for support. Inch by inch, she managed to stumble out of the bathroom until she was in the hallway again, but this time she wasn't alone. The tall, intimidating figure of Batman stood in front of her; Jeannie felt a dizzying wave of relief.

"Do you know what's going on?" she asked him, curling her arm around her stomach.

"The Riddler cut off power and hydro to the entire city," Batman said gruffly. "Gordon is trying to restore it." He took a step toward her, but Jeannie didn't flinch. "Jennifer, he believes that the Joker is on his way here."

"That's perfect timing," she managed to reply, her voice coming out more breathless than sarcastic. "Because I think I'm about to have this baby."

She imagined Batman's eyes widening behind his cowl. "Are you sure?" he asked. Jeannie would have found the entire situation hilarious if she hadn't been in so much pain.

"Yes, I'm sure," she panted. "Bruce—"

The name slipped out of her mouth before she knew it. Batman froze. "How did you know?" he said after a tense moment, and his voice was no longer a guttural growl but something closer to human speech.

"I guessed," Jeannie whispered. "We've met—before all of this. And you—you've seen the Joker before, haven't you? When he was still Jack."

"Does Gordon know?" Batman asked. His eyes were glowing a dull white, the only bit of color in the black hallway.

"I didn't tell him anything," Jeannie answered honestly. "Please, all I want is to keep Lily safe. I'll do anything—"

"You don't have to," the Dark Knight interrupted. He lowered his head and raised a gloved hand to his face. "Alfred," he said, speaking into some hidden gadget on his costume. "Can you track my location and bring the car here? A woman needs to be taken to Gotham General."

The response must have been affirmative, for Batman raised his head a moment later and looked directly at Jeannie. "Alfred is my butler," he explained. "He'll bring you to the hospital and Lily to Wayne Manor. She'll be safe there."

"Thank you," Jeannie whispered fervently. "But if the power is out—"

"The hospital runs on an emergency backup generator. Their equipment will still be in use." Batman turned away, in the direction of the window. "Alfred should be here soon," he added. "I'll keep an eye out for the Joker until then." And he melted into the shadows without another word.

Less than a second later, the door to Lily's room opened and she peered out shyly, clutching onto her stuffed rabbit Peter. "Why is Batman here?" she asked. "Are we in danger?"

"No," Jeannie said as Lily scurried out and buried her face in her mother's side. "We're fine. But I'm going to have the baby soon. A nice man will come and bring you somewhere safe."

"Are you sure?" Lily asked, her voice muffled.

"Yes, honey, I'm sure," Jeannie said, squinting in the direction where Batman had disappeared, but she was looking for the Joker as much as she was looking for his nemesis.

Across the river, a massive explosion rocked the skyline, a ball of fire rising up into the sky like a warning of what was about to come.


	28. October 2008: Inferno

Her vision was a sea of white.

White walls, white bedsheets, white coats, bright white fluorescent lights above her, voices speaking in urgent, hurried tones—pain consuming her entire body, wracking her limbs—her skin a sickly white as she curled her fingers around the sheets—

Dimly, as if heard from underwater, there was a shrill cry unlike her own exclamations of pain, and the unnaturally colorless world was suddenly altered by the presence of something _red_ burning into her retinas.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Napier," the doctor said, holding up a wailing, squirming figure covered in blood. "It's a boy."

Jeannie's senses rushed back at once, and she was suddenly aware of the hospital suite around her, an IV hooked up to her arm, the nurses and doctors surrounding the bed. She blinked slowly, staring at the infant in the doctor's hands. Her son. Jack's son. "Let me…let me hold him," she croaked with the last vestiges of her remaining energy. The doctor wrapped him in a towel, wiping the blood off his face, before gently placing him in her arms. Jeannie was hardly aware of anyone else in the room, taking her blood pressure and pulse and recording the time of birth, as she stared down at her son.

He was pink and wrinkled—with a hell of a set of lungs on him, she noted—that seemed to quiet down as he rested his head on her chest. Her arms felt like lead as she reached up a hand to stroke his hair, already covered with a downy blond fuzz like Lily's had been when she was born. His eyes were open, and Jeannie felt a rush of warmth as she met his dark blue eyes. Just like hers.

The infant gave a small cry and clutched one tiny hand into a fist, burying his head into her neck. Jeannie softly kissed the top of his head, the nausea and sleepless nights and agonizing labor forgotten. It had been worth it all just to stare at him.

"Jack," she murmured, and she was no longer certain if she was speaking about her husband or her son. "Jack Michael Napier."

She ought to be ashamed, she knew, but she failed to feel selfish about bringing another child into the world.

* * *

Jeannie woke to darkness, the only sound the low hum of the hospital's emergency backup generator. Her baby, her Jay, was nowhere in sight.

Running a hand through her tangled, sweaty hair, she slowly sat up and then tentatively got to her feet, her legs shaking slightly. She had no idea how long she'd been asleep or what time it was. The hospital was hopelessly understaffed, and once it had been confirmed her condition was stable, the doctors had moved onto the next patient. Jeannie dimly remembered being fed a dinner of mashed potatoes and Jell-O before she'd been pumped full of drugs to help her sleep.

When she was confident she could stand on her own, she carefully pulled out the IV, wincing a little as it began to bleed, and quickly wiped her hand on the hospital gown. There was no telling when anyone would be back to check on her.

A shrill ringing from the opposite wall made her jump in surprise, her heart pounding as she whirled around to see the in-room telephone lighting up an eerie red. She stared at it for a long moment, eyes wide. Surely this had to be a mistake: any medical personnel would know to check on her in person, and nobody knew her room number, let alone that she was even _in_ the hospital—

But somewhere deep down, in a part of her mind she wished to keep silent, her brain muttered nastily that yes, she knew _exactly_ who was calling, and it wouldn't make any difference if she answered or not.

Jeannie stumbled, dreamlike, across the suite and over to the phone mounted on the wall. The dim light in the room cast long shadows over her form, so that out of the corner of her eye it looked like there was someone else with her. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she glanced up at the receiver. It was an unknown number. Of course. She swallowed hard.

The phone rang again, and she knew she didn't have much longer. Sooner or later someone would hear the noise and investigate. If she didn't answer, she would just be inviting them to visit the hospital themselves. And she wasn't going to put anyone else in danger.

Jeannie picked up the receiver with trembling hands and said, "Hello?"

"The Mad Hatter is coming," the voice on the other end whispered. Jeannie immediately tensed, pressing the phone tightly against her ear. _"Run, Alice, run!"_

"Where is the Joker, Edward?" she snapped, her tone taut with tension. "What does he want? What do _you_ want?"

The Riddler's sharp exhale sounded very close to a laugh. "Hurry up, Alice, or you'll be late for teatime. All our _friends_ will be there."

" _Where?"_ Jeannie ground out, smacking her hand against the wall. Exasperation boiled up inside her. "Where are you?"

"Down the rabbit hole," the Riddler replied, his voice barely containing his glee, and the line abruptly went dead, the dial tone the only thing buzzing in Jeannie's ears.

She slammed the phone back in its cradle with more force than necessary, breathing heavily, her hands clenched into fists. Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes, and she rubbed her temples, trying desperately to decipher his meaning. _Down the rabbit hole._ If she was Alice, and the Joker was the Mad Hatter, then the rabbit hole would be where it all began, where Edward thought held the greatest significance to them—

And Jeannie _knew._

She knew where the Riddler was. She knew what he was planning. She knew, at long last, why the Joker had freed her and Lily. And she knew what she had to do to stop it.

Jeannie glanced over at the stool next to the heart monitor, where her jeans and sweater lay neatly folded. She was suddenly very grateful that there weren't any nurses around, nor anyone to talk her out of what she realized was the only way to stop the Riddler for good. Lily was safe with Bruce Wayne's butler, far away from the city center, and Jay must be in the nursery somewhere on this floor. As long as she left the hospital, he would be safe, too.

Breathing easier now, she managed to shed her hospital gown and pull on her regular clothes, running her hands through her hair and pinching her cheeks so she would look less like she'd given birth just hours beforehand. She was exhausted, _so_ exhausted, both physically and mentally, but she couldn't rest yet. If she gave in to the temptation, either she or Gotham would be dead in less than a day. She was sure of that.

The lights in the corridor outside were still on, harsh and bright, and Jeannie had to shield her eyes from their glare as she tiptoed down the empty hallway to the elevators. Just as she'd suspected, the nursery was several doors down, and though the door was locked and protected with a passcode she could peer in through the window and see the rows of babies sleeping in their incubators. Jay was in there somewhere, she thought, and the notion comforted her. She wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms again, with Lily on her lap, but she forced herself to press on. She was doing this for her children if nothing else.

The elevator was empty and cold; Jeannie wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to shiver during the ride down to the first floor, nor look at her ragged, sallow reflection. She probably looked like she could barely hold herself up—which wouldn't raise much suspicion in a hospital, but it would be more difficult outside. All she needed was a cooperative receptionist and a taxi driver who wouldn't ask questions.

Thankfully the lobby was deserted when the elevator doors slid open, all but confirming her speculation that it was nighttime. A lone secretary sat at the reception desk, glassy-eyed and staring dully at her computer. There were no security guards in sight as Jeannie carefully approached the desk, trying her best to look as non-threatening as possible while she patted her pocket to make sure her emergency bottle of pepper spray was still there.

The receptionist didn't even look up at Jeannie as she stopped in front of the desk, so inattentive was she. Then again, it wasn't like the hospital was in any fit state to monitor its employees. She assumed most people went through emergency these days, anyway.

"Excuse me," Jeannie said politely, clearing her throat. The moment the woman finally glanced up at her, she raised the bottle and sprayed her directly in the eyes. The receptionist screamed and fell to her knees, her eyes watering madly. It wouldn't keep her down for very long, but it was all the time Jeannie needed. Quickly hurrying around the desk, she searched frantically for any gun she could find, knowing there had to be one around somewhere. No self-respecting citizen was naïve enough to think they didn't need a gun in the city's current state.

To her immense relief, there was a handgun in the very top drawer, underneath a mountain of files. While the receptionist struggled to stand up, wiping her eyes, Jeannie stuffed it inside the pocket of her sweater and hurried away as fast as she could, feeling a wave of pity for the stricken woman behind the desk. "I'm sorry!" she called back as she pushed through the revolving doors. Whatever answer she was given was lost as she emerged out into the cold October night, the wind blowing around her so sharply it took her breath away.

Her hunch had been correct—it was nighttime, but the buildings of Gotham didn't glow with light as they usually did; only a few candles pierced the darkness of the towering skyscrapers above her, and the blinding headlights of cars whizzing by. The power was still out, but there wouldn't be many people around here, anyway, she thought. They'd all be at home in the suburbs. God, there had to be a taxi around _somewhere._ She stuck her arm out and stared hopelessly as the cars passed her, one even splashing her with freezing cold water, but none stopped or even slowed down. Worse still, she swore she could smell the acrid scent of smoke in the distance, and police sirens were a constant wail in her ears.

"Hey, lady!"

Jeannie whirled around to see that a car had stopped under a streetlight on the opposite side of the road, and its driver was leaning out of the window to call over to her. "Need a taxi?"

She had never been more grateful to see the distinctive yellow-and-black car as she hurried across the street heedless of the traffic, already planning to give him all the money she had in her wallet. "Yes," she gasped, opening the door and diving into the backseat. "I need to get to Arkham Asylum. As quickly as possible."

* * *

Her footsteps rang against the metal of the stairs as she pounded up the stairwell, her trepidation growing with every step. The adrenaline of the phone call was beginning to wear off, and she was only now beginning to realize what an idiotic thing she was about to do. But it was too late now, she told herself. There was no going back.

The gates to the asylum had been thrown open, all the doors unlocked. No guards had stopped her, though from what she could tell the patients were still inside their cells.

With only a split second of hesitation, Jeannie pushed open the fire door with her shoulder and burst out onto Arkham's rooftop, her fingers curled around the handle of the gun.

At first she couldn't see anything other than the crushing darkness. Straining her eyes, Jeannie stepped forward, the wind whipping around her. It was much colder here than it was on the ground, and dead leaves whirled around the rooftop, catching in her hair.

As her eyes adjusted, she slowly began to make out the form of two figures ahead of her, one kneeling and one standing. Jeannie's breath caught in her throat as she moved toward them, her feet crunching on the gravel.

"Glad to see you could make it, _Mrs. Napier,"_ the Riddler sneered. There was no lightness in his tone now. "I trust your son is doing well."

Jeannie didn't answer; she was looking at the figure on their knees in front of him. The Joker's hands were tied behind his back, his purple coat was stained with a dark substance that looked suspiciously like blood. His makeup was smeared messily over his face. He wasn't even trying to resist, Jeannie noted.

"It's rather _funny,"_ the Riddler continued, and now she saw there was a rope tied around the Joker's neck. A noose. "As soon as he got the slightest whiff that you were in danger, he came running like a dog to me. Looks like Napier might be human after all."

"No."

Jeannie's reply was quiet, but clear enough for the two men to hear. "No, I'm afraid you've lost this one, Edward."

The Riddler's face twisted at the mention of his real name; he shook the Joker for good measure, tightening the noose. Still the clown did not speak. His dark eyes hadn't wavered from Jeannie since she'd arrived. "You're stupider than I thought," Edward sneered. "Your dear _husband_ is one inch away from being a not-so-cherished memory. When Batman arrives—and he will; he won't be able to resist this, it'll be his worst enemy on a silver platter—this entire place will blow. I might have lost the battle, Jennifer, but I've won the war, and I'm taking all of you with me."

"Maybe," Jeannie acknowledged. Finally she withdrew the gun and pointed it directly at the Riddler's forehead. It was cold and heavy in her hand. "But have you wondered why I'm not locked up anymore? You thought you were luring the Joker, Edward, but in the end he took your plan and made it his. And I think you've forgotten that you killed my mother."

His face twisted. "You don't have the bravery—"

"Besides," Jeannie added more loudly, "You've also forgotten that I'm a policeman's daughter."

And she pulled the trigger.

The shot was deafening; Jeannie staggered back, the gun falling from her hands and clattering to the ground. A moment of temporary panic seized her as she realized what she had just done, and she staggered back, horrified, her hands over her mouth, as Edward Nashton crumpled to the ground. His eyes were open and glassy, a trickle of blood dripping from the bullet hole in his forehead, just under his hairline.

The Joker's gleeful laugh echoed around the rooftop, long and loud and hysterical. He laughed so hard she expected to see tears running down his face. "That's my _Jean_ -nie," he crowed, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something closer to affection than she thought he was capable of.

"I'm not your Jeannie," she countered, and kicked the gun away, where it spun into the darkness. "I'm not who you want me to be."

"Looks like we're, ah, _both_ disappointments," the Joker said softly. He watched carefully as Jeannie drew nearer to him until she knelt down in front of him and finally, at long last, they were face-to-face.

She let her eyes rove over his face one more time before she leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted like facepaint and sweat and grime, his scars digging into her skin, but she didn't care.

It didn't take long before he was kissing her back, sloppily but deeply, and his gloved hand came up to cup her face. His tongue ran along her lips possessively, and Jeannie threw herself into it, memorizing the moment as best as she could, trying to prolong it. When she drew away there was a low, frustrated growl in the back of his throat.

"Set a trap for me, have you?" he asked lowly as a team of policemen, including Commissioner Gordon, jumped forward to surround him, a dozen rifles pointing at his heart. "You and the _Batman."_

"Actually, I didn't," Jeannie admitted, beginning to back away from him. His hair shone an almost sickly green in the light. But you have to admit it's excellent timing." She paused, unsure if she would be able to say her next words. "Goodbye, Jack."

The Joker growled again, clearly angry, now seeming seconds away from lunging at her. _"I will always find you, tiger!"_ he yelled after her, the thinly-veiled threat sending a shiver down Jeannie's spine.

Still, her voice was remarkably steady as she called back, "I'm counting on it."

She didn't look back.

Another figure, who had been silently watching the entire time, stepped out of the shadows. Jeannie had never been so grateful to see Batman in her entire life. "Did you take care of the Riddler's charges?" she asked, stuffing her hands back into her pockets.

"Yes," he growled, his white eyes still focused on the SWAT team leading the Joker away. "Come on."

Jeannie obediently stepped toward him, and he carefully gathered her in his arms before leaping off the roof. She had to stifle a shriek as wind rushed past them for a split second before he landed safely on the ground below. His huge, black Batmobile was parked on the sidewalk, a vehicle she'd only read about in the papers. But Jeannie noticed a truck parked in the driveway of the asylum that definitely hadn't been there before. The Joker's truck, she realized with a jolt, seeing the dripping red face spray-painted onto the side.

Batman seemed to come to the conclusion at the same time she did; his eyes widened behind his cowl and he ordered, _"Jennifer, get down!"_

She dove into the armored vehicle, her hands protecting her head, just as there was an enormous explosion that shook the entire street, rattling her to her core. She screamed but it was inaudible, the very ground shaking as a fireball rose up into the sky, and Arkham Asylum went up into flames around them.


	29. October 2008: Absolution

"Thank you for meeting me here, Mr. Wayne," Jeannie said politely as Bruce slid into the booth across from her, smoothing down his jacket. He looked every bit as impeccable as the tabloids made him out to be—not a strand of hair out of place and a handsome, unlined face. He smelled of expensive cologne and musk, and she couldn't resist taking a deeper inhale as the scent wafted up her nostrils.

"The pleasure is all mine," Bruce replied, with a knowing grin. "In fact, I'd say it's quite fitting."

Jeannie laughed under her breath, glancing at the tables that surrounded them and the dark oak that paneled the walls. "It's not often that I get to eat here as a customer," she admitted as a smartly-dressed waiter came forth to take their orders.

"I'll have whatever the lady's having," Bruce told him with a careless shrug, leaning back in his chair, and after a quick glance at the menu, which had scarcely changed in the six years since Jeannie had seen it last, she ordered a glass of red wine.

It had been her idea to meet at this restaurant—this place in the center of Gotham that she had worked at as a teenager, the place where she had once encountered a young Bruce Wayne with Rachel Dawes. He had been in love with her, Jeannie knew now—and to also know that the Joker was the one responsible for her death made her feel even more undeserving of Bruce's help—of Batman's help.

She glanced behind them every minute or so, a habit picked up after months in captivity, but the restaurant was empty aside from them. The city was still regaining its footing after being held hostage by the Riddler and Scarecrow; it would likely take years before its economy was even a shadow of what it once was. Still, Jeannie was grateful for the privacy. She would have to choose her words carefully.

While they waited for their drinks to arrive, she reached over to adjust Lily's ponytail, which was falling out after her numerous attempts to perform a cartwheel on the walk over to the restaurant. Her daughter barely glanced up at Jeannie's fussing; she was completely absorbed in the coloring book that Commissioner Gordon had given her the last time they'd met. On Jeannie's other side, Jay slept soundly in his baby carrier, his face scrunched and his tiny hands curled into fists. Jeannie bent down to softly place a kiss on his forehead, and he gurgled indistinctly but stayed asleep.

"They seem pretty content," Bruce remarked when Jeannie straightened up, nodding at the two children. His lips twitched upward in a small smile at their complete lack of interest in his presence. Jeannie presumed it was a welcome change for him.

"So far," she agreed, though her gaze lingered on Lily. "Commissioner Gordon suggested I bring her to talk to a child psychologist about…everything that's happened. It might not affect her now, but when she's older…" Guilt settled heavily on Jeannie's chest again at the thought that she was responsible for everything that had happened to Lily, for her daughter's trauma. Jay was too young to be affected in any way, to have any remembrance of this, but _Lily…_

Bruce's demeanor turned solemn, as if he knew what she was thinking. "You're safe now, Jennifer," he said, his hazel eyes catching hers. "I promise."

She blinked and had too look away for a moment—the intensity of his gaze was too strong for her. "Why did you help me?" she whispered. "I'm his—his _wife."_ She gave a small shudder as she said the words, the flash of a gruesome Glasgow grin painted in her mind. She doubted it would ever go away, no matter how far she ran.

"You were innocent," Bruce said after a moment, leaning back in his seat. He looked out the window at the cars flashing by, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely. "And so was your daughter. I wasn't about to let him ruin the lives of any more civilians. Not because of me, because of some point he wanted to make—some _game_ he wanted to play." His voice turned dark at the end, some angry ghost of Batman fighting to escape. But Jeannie knew his anger was directed inward, at himself.

"I don't think he would have killed either of us," she said quietly. "That wasn't part of his plan."

"Maybe not," Bruce replied, turning back to her. Whatever part of him had been struggling to emerge appeared to have been suppressed. "But was the alternative any better?"

Jeannie opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again when she realized she had no answer. Luckily the waiter returned with their drinks before the silence stretched out for too long, and Bruce raised his glass with a self-deprecating grin. "Here's to the dinner we never got to have," he announced, and Jeannie returned the toast before raising the glass to her lips.

The wine was strong and carried just a hint of vanilla, but as Jeannie took a sip the liquid sloshed around in a way that was eerily reminiscent of blood and she quickly placed it back on the table, feeling slightly ill. She bit down hard on her tongue and forced a smile at Bruce, trying hard to keep her attention focused on him. Gordon had suggested she see a psychologist, too, but Jeannie knew that it would have to be one far away from Gotham. She wasn't about to let anyone in the city ever know that she was the Joker's wife.

"…enjoying the hotel?" Bruce was asking. Jeannie was quick to nod in a failed effort at disguising her momentary lapse in attention.

"Yes, the Ritz is wonderful," she said, too fervently. "I've stayed there twice before and never had any complaints. Lily loves the size of the suite—she can do her whole gymnastics routine in there."

Her daughter's head rose immediately at the mention of gymnastics, and she threw her crayons down and immediately asked eagerly, "Can I show him, Mommy?"

After ascertaining that the restaurant was still free of other customers, Jeannie reluctantly acquiesced, and Lily hopped down from the booth and began a series of elaborate cartwheels and somersaults that made Jeannie feel vaguely dizzy. But she tried to encourage Lily as much as possible, knowing how much she had suffered at not having space to run around and play in during the months the Joker had kept them locked in the apartment. _His_ apartment. Jeannie's lip curled at the thought.

Bruce clapped enthusiastically while Lily bowed at the end of her routine, beaming from ear to ear. "You'll have to let me know when she makes it to the Olympics," he remarked as Lily continued to tumble around the floor; their waiter was watching her with a smile. It was the little things that gave people strength to carry on, Jeannie mused. Just as she would have to learn to pick herself back up again, so Gotham would learn how to rebuild itself, brick by brick.

"What did your butler say about taking care of Lily?" Jeannie asked curiously, turning back to the billionaire sitting across from her. "Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Alfred told me that she was a delight to have around the manor," Bruce added. Jeannie noticed that he hadn't touched his wine. "I think he misses looking after children." A small but visible crease appeared on his forehead. "Truth be told, I think he gets lonely there by himself."

Jeannie raised her eyebrows. "Have you considered spending more time there?" she asked, half-seriously.

Bruce gave a self-deprecating laugh and adjusted his tie. "Well, it is a lot of work running your own company," he said with a gleam in his eye.

"And how _is_ Wayne Enterprises running these days? I assume there have been a few hiccups along the way."

Bruce was quick enough to understand that she wasn't actually talking about his business. "It's fine," he said guardedly. "We've been getting reports of a cat burglar targeting art galleries and museums while the city is on uneven ground. They seem to have very expensive taste."

Jeannie twirled her wine glass around in her fingers. "And I suppose you've been tasked to investigate?" she slyly inquired.

He smirked. "You could say that."

But there was still one topic that hadn't been broached—the most sensitive one of all. Jeannie snuck another glance at Bruce, wondering if she should just keep quiet and let the conversation dwindle until it was time to leave—but the words burst from her lips before she could control them, tumbling out in a hasty rush: "It must be easier for you now that… _he_ …is in Blackgate." She sucked in a breath, trying to fight back the image of Arkham Asylum exploding in a ball of fire; Gordon's calm, steady voice telling her that the Joker had been moved to solitary confinement at Blackgate Prison with no chance of a trial or ever emerging into daylight again.

Bruce turned sympathetic at the look on her face, leaning towards her and saying in a low voice, "He can't escape, Jennifer. Blackgate isn't like Arkham. It's a federal prison. He won't be labeled as criminally insane there."

Jeannie didn't even realize that she was shredding her napkin with her fingers until she unclenched her fist and pieces of white tissue fluttered softly onto the table. "That's if _I_ don't get sent there first," she muttered darkly. "I—I killed Edward Nashton."

"The Riddler," Bruce told her firmly. "He wasn't Edward Nashton anymore. Even if his body hadn't been destroyed in the fire, you acted in self-defense." He couldn't quite hide his disapproval in the words, though, which made Jeannie feel even worse. Worse because it wasn't what she should have done, but mostly because she didn't feel guilty for killing him at all. She had only been thinking of avenging her mother when she'd pulled the trigger, and realized Batman's struggle at taking the law into his own hands, the fine line between being a vigilante and a criminal. To most people, there wasn't even a difference, and the Joker knew that full well. That had been part of his plan from the start, she'd realized. He had always intended for her to kill the Riddler, and Jeannie had played right into his hands.

"The Joker can't stay locked up forever, Mr. Wayne," she murmured, meeting his hazel gaze squarely. "He'll break out somehow, no matter where he is. It might be tomorrow, it might be next year, but you can't keep him locked up. If he's there, it's because he wants to be."

A ringing silence followed her words, broken only by the sound of Jay beginning to fuss. Jeannie leaned over to unstrap him from his carrier and pulled him onto her lap. Gently bouncing him on her knee seemed to mollify him for the moment, though she could tell he would need to be fed soon. He was an easy baby, all things considered—not nearly as loud as Lily had been.

Bruce watched the two of them, mother and child, with a contemplative expression. He rubbed his jaw almost absentmindedly and Jeannie noticed a dark purple bruise under his chin. Before she could ask him about it, he crossed his arms on the table and said, "What are _you_ planning to do?"

Jeannie was momentarily caught off-guard by his question, and took another sip of wine so she wouldn't have to respond right away. Bruce waited patiently for her answer. "I can't stay in Gotham any longer—I _won't_ stay here any longer," she said slowly. "But I can't go back to Chicago either. I can't go back to my teaching job, even if the school would take me back." Jeannie paused, hugging Jay closer to her. Across the restaurant, Lily was attempting a handstand. "When I called my family and told them we were all right, my brother—Liam—said that we could live with them, that we would never need to worry about money again. But I can't do that. I can't put them in danger."

The Joker's final, haunting words echoed in her head: _"I will always find you, tiger!"_ Jeannie shuddered, trying hard to pull herself back to reality.

"He doesn't care about his children," she continued shakily. "It's me that he wants. When he breaks out of Blackgate, he'll try to find me. I can't have anyone else with me when that happens." Her voice broke, and she had to look away, swallowing back tears. "I was thinking of taking them to my sister, Rebecca, and her husband. They live on the west coast, and Becky's in a wheelchair but she's always wanted children. I know they'll take Lily and Jay if I asked. They'll be safe there."

Bruce's reply was uncharacteristically soft. "And what about you?"

Jeannie sniffled and wiped her eyes with her free hand, embarrassed at breaking down in front of a stranger, no matter how trustworthy he was. "I have to run," she whispered.


	30. October 2008: Resolution

Gotham International Airport hadn't changed much in the fourteen years since Jeannie had first set foot in the city. Its bleak, seemingly endless terminals stretched a quarter mile in all directions, encased in a concrete slab of an architectural movement that had been popular in the sixties. Rows of hard-backed chairs were the only dividers between gates, and ceiling tiles were loose and hanging limply from the ceiling, swinging slightly in the stale, musty air like hanged corpses on display.

Jeannie hadn't been impressed then, and she certainly wasn't now, but despite all that had transpired here, she held more affection for the city behind her than she had when she was a sullen thirteen-year-old upset about moving halfway across the country. In many ways, Gotham was her home more than Chicago had ever been. There was a peculiar, self-contained energy about the city she could never quite explain; it was certainly enough to attract personalities like Batman and the Joker, and Gotham did more than just sustain them: she enabled them to thrive. Jack wouldn't be able to survive long outside of this city, and both Jeannie and Bruce knew that. It was why the wisest choice was for her to leave. She would be safe as long as she stayed away, even if the Joker did find her again.

And Jeannie knew he would eventually.

Lily grasped her hand tightly, for once choosing to hang behind with her mother. "Where are they?" she asked, her eager eyes scanning the terminal around them, which was mainly populated with government officials and black-suited businessman who looked to be in Bruce Wayne's league.

Jeannie, who had been peering over the cover into Jay's stroller, the infant in a contented, sleepy mood after being fed, squeezed Lily's hand reassuringly and gave her a smile. "They're just up here," she told her, and soon enough, three familiar figures came into view as they emerged from the baggage claim area. Lily gave a little shriek of delight as she let go of her mother's hand and rushed headlong into the arms of her aunts and uncle, a whirlwind of blonde hair and long limbs. Jeannie turned around to give Commissioner Gordon a knowing look; he smiled kindly back at her. Though he was dressed in plain clothes, he had insisted on accompanying them to the airport in case there were any incidents. Jeannie had tried to refuse his offer, but he had been firm in telling her that one could never be too cautious when it came to the Joker, and she had been reluctantly forced to concede his point.

"Take your time, Jennifer," he told her with a gentle, fatherly smile, and she watched wordlessly as he retreated to the gate at the very end of the terminal, where a Wayne Enterprises private jet idled on the tarmac. She swallowed hard, blinking a few times, before turning her attention back to her family. Liam was the first to reach her, hugging her hard in a way he hadn't since they were children, and Jeannie allowed herself to relax in her older brother's embrace for a moment before he pulled back and she was immediately transferred to Harriet's arms, where she finally felt herself tearing up.

"We thought the worst, Jeannie," Harriet whispered into her ear. "We couldn't believe it when we heard you made it out."

Jeannie drew back from her and swatted at her eyes; all she could do was nod. "Yeah," she said thickly. "So did I."

It was more difficult to hug Rebecca on account of her wheelchair, but Jeannie bent over to plant a kiss on her other sister's forehead as she quietly basked in the joy of having her siblings with her at last. She had requested this: just the four of them, the last remaining Kerrs, together again for perhaps the very last time. She'd sobbed on the phone to Liam the first time they'd talked, just the previous week, blaming herself for their mother's death and the lengths they had gone to in their attempts to rescue her. Of course Liam had told her it wasn't her fault, that all Victoria would want was to see Jeannie safe again, but she knew it wasn't the sort of guilt that could be easily alleviated.

"Where is he taking you?" Harriet asked in a low voice, so that Lily couldn't hear.

"I don't know," Jeannie admitted. "He wouldn't tell me." She cast a glance to where Gordon waited by the empty gate. "Bruce arranged everything—he told me that wherever I was going, I would be safe there. Out of the country, I'd imagine." She gave a watery smile.

"You're welcome to stay with us instead, you know," Liam said with more than a hint of disapproval. "We'd have a spare bedroom if Joanna moved in with Fiona—"

Jeannie couldn't help but laugh at the thought of her nieces' dismay at another three people in an already full house, and David's annoyance at having to live with Lily. "I appreciate the offer, but this is something I have to do."

"Lily and Jay will be safe with George and I," Rebecca told her, taking both of Jeannie's hands in hers. "I promise."

It was taking all of her concentration to hold back the tears now; Jeannie met her sister's steady gaze and knew that there would be no safer hands than hers. "I know, Becky," she said. "I know."

Lily, who had picked up on the shift in mood, tugged on Jeannie's hand again, clinging to her leg. "I don't want you to go, Mommy!" she cried, her lower lip wobbling.

Her siblings moved away to give them privacy as Jeannie bent down to say goodbye to her children, gathering Jay in her arms so she could rock him to sleep one last time. "I don't want to go, either," she admitted, smoothing out the crease in her daughter's forehead. "But it's the only way to keep you and Jay safe. You'll love Los Angeles—it's always warm and sunny. Aunt Becky and Uncle George will take good care of you."

"Promise?" Lily asked, her brown eyes wide and pleading. Jeannie drew the little girl closer to her until she was breathing in her warm, freshly-bathed scent and a hint of Jay's baby powder.

"I promise," she murmured to both of them. "I'll visit you as soon as I can, sweetheart."

They stayed locked in an embrace for what felt like eternity—but even eternity wasn't nearly long enough—until Lily's sobs became hiccups and Jeannie somehow found the strength to draw back from her, tears leaving warm streaks on her own face. She kissed a now-sleeping Jay softly before placing him back in his stroller, oblivious to the commotion around him.

When she straightened up again, the others all had grim but loving looks on their faces. Jeannie took a deep breath, hoping that she looked braver than she felt, and bid them goodbye with as genuine a smile as she could manage. "I'll be in touch as soon as it's safe," she said.

"We'll be waiting," Rebecca said, and Liam and Harriet both nodded in agreement. Jeannie wasn't sure she could bear to hug them again, so she stood there for a minute, taking in the sight of her family, before grudgingly tearing her eyes away from them and beginning to walk over to Commissioner Gordon.

She felt as if she was in a dream as she crossed the corridor to where he waited for her, travelers hurrying by completely unaware as to the gravity of the goodbye she had just made. Gordon's salt-and-pepper mustache twitched upward as he smiled at her, and she made an effort to return the gesture. She thought it might be a very long time before she could smile properly again.

The door to the jetway was already open, and just before entering Jeannie turned back around to see her family one last time. They were still watching her, Lily now holding Harriet's hand and Rebecca's hand stroking Jay's head. Jeannie slowly raised her hand in farewell to them, taking a moment to crystallize the moment in her mind to cherish later before she pulled up the hood of her sweater and turned her back on Gotham for good.

The wind whipped around her hair as she stepped onto the concrete, Gordon trailing her as she crossed the tarmac to the idling airplane. Her luggage had already been stored in the cargo hold and Bruce had assured her that his own personal security team would escort her on the flight. She lifted her eyes to the shimmering skyline in the distance; somewhere on the top floor of Wayne Tower, he would be looking out at the airport and watching her leave. She would have to repay him someday.

"Are you ready, Jennifer?" Gordon asked her kindly; he was watching her with an inexplicable sadness, as if she was his own daughter.

Jeannie gave a tiny, humorless grin. "I don't think I'll ever be ready, Commissioner."

After they had said a brief goodbye and Jeannie had again thanked him for all the help he had given her and Lily, she climbed the short set of stairs and was ushered into the cabin by a waiting attendant, where she selected a seat next to the window and curled up into it, pressing her fingers against the glass. She tried to see if she could spot Lily and Jay in the terminal, but the only thing that stared back at her was her own reflection.

With an efficiency that would be unheard of on a commercial flight, the plane taxied down the runway and soon they were in the air, turning east and flying over the glittering, winding river, giving Jeannie one last glimpse of Gotham before they reached the clouds. She watched as they flew over the Narrows, past the crumbling ruins that had once been the apartment building she and Jack had lived in, over Wayne Tower, over the maze of suburbs that had been her first home in Gotham—and then, in the distance, the forbidding fortress of Blackgate Prison, its guard tower's light like an unblinking eye watching her. The Joker's eye.

Unconsciously, Jeannie reached into her pocket for the coin that had come to symbolize her husband to her—the man he _could_ have been, not the man he turned out to be. She closed her fingers tightly over it as it glinted in the sun, its light briefly blinding as it reflected off the window. And then the clouds swallowed them up and Gotham disappeared below them.

_I will always find you, tiger._

"Checkmate, Jack," she whispered.


End file.
